


Hell Is(n't) A Personal Place

by kittykat2892



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Physical Torture, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gradual Relationship, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, OT6, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 34,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykat2892/pseuds/kittykat2892
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Avengers Initiative takes effect, the teammates move into Avengers Tower. Treading on eggshells to begin with, the Avengers start learning about each other, which slowly leads to caring about each other. Through the good, the bad, and the strange, something kindles within them. The feelings are gradual, but by the time any of them realize it, it's too late to stop. </p><p>None of them want to give it up anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjoying the Accommodations

**Author's Note:**

> I've read enough OT6 fictions over the years that I really want to try my own hand at one. Hence, this was born after watching Ultron. (Speaking of Ultron, once I get through the base six Avengers, I will venture into the characters in Phase 2 and Ultron territories. I will put a warning of which movies to have watched when I get to that point.)
> 
> The story will start out slow, and I apologize for that. As of the beginning, none of them are together--they're still skittish and awkward, but willing and wanting to help. I hope I can explain their actions as I go, but if not, please feel free to ask any questions.
> 
> Also, that title is a work in progress. I hate titles. Blegh.

General Ross never gave up on finding Bruce—SHIELD simply delayed the scientist's capture by making him an unofficial member of Team Avenger and nigh untouchable. Bruce knew this, knew that it was time for him to move, but he let himself grow comfortable with the Avengers and Avenger Tower. He let himself believe he was a part of the Avengers. Invincible. He let himself ignore the pounding instinct in his head, shut out the Other Guy's warning howls of the hunter closing in.

Doing so left him nowhere but in a Hulk-proofed cell doped up on specially-engineered sedatives that could kill three and a half cattle herds. Bruce lifted his head, staring at the door, silently begging and praying that one of his teammates would burst in at any moment. The only person that ever met his hopeful gaze was another scientist, another needle, another dose, another experiment. His strength gave out, and his head fell again.

As minutes, hours, days (could it have already been weeks?) passed, Bruce's lingering hope of rescue faded. He had hoped he had found a friend in Tony, a protector in Steve, maybe even understanding in Clint. Now, chained to a triple-reinforced metal wall sedated past what should be survivable, Bruce found himself slipping back into a detrimental state of mind. Soft rumblings of discontent reverberated around his skull, the Other Guy reduced to nothing more than barking. If given the chance, Bruce thought he could truly die at the moment.

The door screeched open once more. Bruce, not even sure why he continued to hold out, forced his head up only to see General Ross's smug face. He let his chin fall against his chest again, preparing for the general's grand victory speech.

“Well, well. Bruce Banner. It's a pleasure to see you again.” Hard-soled boots clicked across the floor. “These are much more amicable terms, don't you agree?”

Bruce scoffed. “I'm caged,” he whispered. Even those two words made him feel like he did after reverting back to himself from the Other Guy's rampages.

“Indeed. And are apparently enjoying the accommodations. Nothing has been broken and none of my staff have been mauled. I'd say that the past three days have been good to you.”

Three days. Three days that the Avengers hadn't rescued him. Three days that he'd been transported back to a hell he'd run from for what felt like years.

“Oh, don't give me that look, Dr. Banner. The fun's just starting after all.” Ross grinned, pacing in front of the chained man. “We've been pumping you full of sedatives. A normal person would be dead by now. But thankfully that brute keeps you alive, so now comes the fun part.” He grabbed Bruce's chin, jerking his face up. “Now we get to see if our sedative works against outside stimulus.”

Outside stimulus—the meaning of those words didn't sink in at first. When the drugs finally let Bruce's mind work through the context, his eyes widened and panic gave him a burst of adrenaline.

“No, you can't,” he gasped, struggling against his bonds.

“But I can. That's the reward.” Ross laughed, stepping away from Bruce. “If those sedatives work correctly, I can do whatever the hell I want to you and that monster.” His footsteps recede out of Bruce's sight, stopping just before he exits the room. “By the way, I'm sure my daughter sends her sympathies.”

“Betty?” Bruce breathed, a fresh scent of hope putting the light back in his eyes.

“Don't think that she's your ticket out of here, Doctor. She's happily on vacation with her boyfriend in the Bahamas for another week. More than enough time for us to conclude our reunion.”

The hope in Bruce died at those words, curling in on itself to be replaced by pain and fear. The physical experiments started after General Ross left—knives, blunt force, electricity, chemicals, anything the scientists could think to use. The Other Guy grunted and groaned, but neither he nor Bruce had the strength to fight back. The mental torture came after a short break from the physical.

Whichever scientist had managed to create the hallucinatory drug that rocketed Bruce back to his childhood needed to be commended but also punched through a wall or six. The sound of his own screams were enough to deafen Bruce as he begged his father to stop hitting his mom, to stop hitting him, to leave them alone, to just go and die. The rumbles of the Other Guy grew louder during that phase, almost as if he wanted to keep Bruce grounded, remind him that the past couldn't hurt him. The drug would have broken him if not for the Other Guy.

Screeching metal from Bruce's prison cell created a vertigo in his mind. One blink of the eye showed his father dragging a crowbar over the oil-stained stone floor of their old garage. A red-and-gold suit, followed by a black-clad woman with fiery hair, filled the next. The two images warred with each other. Sounds of battle and pained screams siphoned into the hallucination, worsening the illusion and then there were five versions of his father, all yelling and beating him.

“Bruce. Bruce, c'mon, buddy, come back.” 

Cold fingers pressed against Bruce's cheek. The hallucination supplied knives between his father's fingers digging into his skin. He inhaled sharply, jerking his head away.

“No more,” he whimpered, caught in the hallucination. “Please stop, daddy.”

A high-pitched whining sound focused Bruce's thoughts. He blinked away his father's illusion, replacing it with Tony's determined and sweaty face. A sharp pain called him further back into reality as Tony released one of the bonds pinning Bruce to the wall. His body, unused to supporting its own weight, fell completely against his one arm that remained manacled.

“Shit. Sorry, I'm sorry.” Panic flashed through Tony's eyes. He lifted Bruce's free arm and propped it onto his shoulder, leaving enough room to work on the other manacle.

“You came...?”

Tony paused in his work, a range of emotions shifting his face as he stared at the other scientist. He opened his mouth once, twice, before finally nodding and returning to his work. “Yes. Yes, we came to rescue you, Bruce.”

“Huh. Imagine that,” Bruce murmured, the sedatives and hallucinatory drug traveling quicker with his increasing adrenaline and heart rate. The two drugs, combined in the quantities that were in his body, finally knocked him out.

~*~*~*~

No one openly confronted Bruce about his ordeal for a month. He didn't know whether they wanted him to heal or were worried that he would bolt at the first sign of a problem. After the rescue, Bruce spent a week in SHIELD's critical care unit. Nurses and doctors alike learned not to approach him with any sort of apparatus used during his torture at the risk of another leveled hospital floor. His teammates visited him every day, doing their best to distract him, bring him back and tether him to the present.

Once the week passed, Bruce demanded he be released to Avengers Tower. The doctors refused at first, but not much can be done against an irate and distressed Hulk. Bruce returned to Avengers Tower only to shut himself away in his room to work at his personal lab.

Two more weeks passed. Bruce only left his room for necessities—to eat and to visit the bathroom. He learned the best times and ways to avoid the Avengers and what he believed to be their pity.

Natasha took things into her own hands three days later. She caught him on his trip back to his room from the kitchen in the middle of the night. Her hand, pale skin soft against his own tanned and scarred wrist, gently pulled him to the sitting room where the others waited. He wanted to bolt as soon as he laid eyes on them, unprepared for the pity he was about to receive, but Natasha's gentle grip held him just as tightly as General Ross's manacles. Bruce sat in the only available chair, on the edge of his seat because of his reignited inability to relax and flee.

“Dr. Banner.” Steve frowned at himself. “Bruce,” he corrected. “I hope you'll be happy to hear that General Ross has been stripped of his rank and duties and is now awaiting a trial for what he put you through over the years.” The soldier leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “SHIELD has also coerced the American government into granting you amnesty. No branch of the government is now allowed to hunt you on the basis of speculation or experimentation.”

Bruce managed a small and self-deprecating smile. “There's no way the government will agree. They'll be back to hunting me within another week.”

“Should they decide that that is more preferable than living out the remainders of their lives, then I will gladly give them what they desire.” Natasha's curt words stung like ice. Her eyes softened when Bruce flinched at her tone, a mixture of sadness and rage battling in her twitching lips. “I would kill that man in the most painful way I know if I were given permission,” she murmured.

“Bruce, buddy.” Tony spoke next, catching and holding his friend's gaze. A haunted look lingered in his eyes. “I'm sorry.” His voice cracked, surprising Bruce. Tony Stark never lost his cool—not even, according to the reports, after he returned from his imprisonment overseas. “I'm sorry we didn't get there quicker. We couldn't,” he inhaled slowly, “find you.”

Shaking his head, Bruce slumped into the chair. “It's not your fault. I don't blame you. I mean,” Bruce laughed sharply, “it's not like I'm a real Avenger. Why would you need the pathetic little man if he weren't connected to the huge green rage monster?”

Much to everyone's surprise, Tony spoke first. He lurched to his feet, his eyes flaring. “Don't you ever think that, Bruce Banner. Don't you ever let yourself think that this,” he fumbled over his words, motioning to the Avengers, before finding his train of thought, “that this team doesn't want you here. Whatever your father told you? When you were, what, six? Maybe seven?” Tony smiled grimly at the resulting flinch. “Yeah, whatever that piece of shit told you, it's not true. It wasn't then, and it isn't now.”

Steve looked confused, but understanding lit Natasha and Clint's faces. Thor, silent through the exchange so far, obtained an even stonier look, if that were possible. Bruce recoiled further into his seat, attempting to make himself small and unnoticeable as he had all those years ago. The pain and recognition on Tony's face near to broke Bruce's heart. He had known about Tony—the uncharacteristic flinches and aversion to certain tools of the trade, the drinking binges and marathon work sessions, the difficulty making friends and letting people in—were tell-tale, especially to someone who experienced the same emotions and urges.

“How did you beat it?” Bruce whispered, shifting his eyes to the floor.

“I haven't, Bruce. That's the thing.” Tony laughed. Though it was the characteristic Stark laugh, Bruce could now hear the glass behind the facade. “But I know for damn sure that you're not a monster and you don't deserve to be treated like one.”

Tension filled the air as Tony slowly approached Bruce, his hands lifted slightly at his sides as a sign of peace. Bruce felt the Other Guy rumble in discontent, felt him eyeing Tony in suspicion. The scientist pictured Tony as Iron Man. He and the Other Guy always had fun in battle trying to best the other in number of downed opponents. At the image, the rumbling quieted though the tension remained. The Other Guy wasn't about to let Bruce be tortured or harmed like that ever again.

Clammy fingers on his arm jolted Bruce from the reverie, pushed him into even more of a ball, but Tony's hand never left his arm. The support and friendship in the other's eyes never wavered, and only that let Tony skim over the healing wounds from Bruce's capture.

“You can make it through this, Bruce. It sure as hell won't be easy, but you'll have five people right here willing to help you through it.”

A glance around Tony showed the other Avengers agreeing. Not one of them exuded a drop of pity for Bruce—only support. Steve stood, mimicking Tony's slow and sure movements until he, too, stood in front of Bruce. He paused, thinking, before kneeling next to the chair instead of standing over Bruce.

“I also want to apologize if anything we've said never made it official, Bruce.” Steve held his hand out, a warm smile settling Bruce's buzzing mind and finally calming the Other Guy. “Welcome to the Avengers. We're glad to have you on the team.”

For the first time in his life, the tears that rolled down Bruce's stubbled cheeks were from happiness as he shook Steve's hand.


	2. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to put his team before himself. It's always been that way even when he led the Howling Commandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this written yesterday, but I'm making a goal for myself (and any readers I may have). I will do my best to post a chapter a day, or if that doesn't work, a chapter every other day. Also, I'm not sure about the MCU timeline, so I'm going off movie release dates when necessary (hopefully...? Haha...)
> 
> My writing style is strange--I'm never good with flowing thoughts and scenes. I pick scenes out of that flow and write them. Going off that, the beginning chapters will be emotional, because they are the Avengers' worst fears coming true or haunting them. They need the initial hurt to get to the later comfort.

Working with the rest of the Avengers on team-building exercises kept Steve's mind busy. When he had work or training to worry about, he fell into bed and didn't stir until the sun came out. Recently, even when training was scarce, his one-on-one trust exercises with Bruce and the Hulk mentally exhausted him.

The nights when Steve stayed awake for hours before slipping away were the nights that he woke up screaming, covered in sweat and feeling restricted by his sheets. Only Stark's sound-proofed walls and JARVIS's promise to keep quiet kept Steve's nightmares out of the limelight while the team worked on rebuilding Bruce's trust. 

The soldiers under his command came first—even when he led the Howling Commandos, that was his personal rule—and so Bruce's needs outweighed his own. Steve suffered in silence for three months, finding strength and reason for his life whenever Bruce made progress. On the nights of those successful days, the nightmares never visited him. Then Steve broke on the worst possible mission.

An up-and-coming villain released a battalion of cyborg creatures with super-charged reparative effects and physiology of lizards and the strength of gorillas on Miami. Fury called in the Avengers, warning them that everything the National Guard threw at the creatures healed in less than five minutes. Steve, never one for premonitions or foreboding, felt a heavy weight on his shoulders, positive that the battle would quickly turn sour. His mood blackened as they approached Florida.

Hawkeye calling the drop-off point for him and Natasha knocked him out of his musings. The assassin glanced at him from the corner of her eye, probably sensing something on his mind, but Steve simply nodded to her before jumping out of the Quinjet. Being sucked into battle with regenerating creatures usually reserved the questions for later.

Captain America's shield tore through the cyborgs like paper, but a removed limb grew back within minutes and a split torso rejoined in a slightly longer amount of time. Beheading the creatures was the only way that worked. With Hawkeye's eyes, Captain America made his calls. Iron Man kept to the skies with covering fire alongside Hawkeye on his staked out building. Thor flew through the streets, herding the creatures toward one manageable spot away from civilians. Hulk, usually taking his cues from Thor, did the same in his own way. Black Widow stayed glued to the Captain, watching his back as he watched hers. Maybe they might win if the creatures could be corralled and annihilated at the same time.

The Avengers needed a change in tactics once the creatures were gathered in one place. Captain America surveyed the writhing nest of metal and scales and made his calls. Iron Man and Hawkeye would remain support since their weapons were ineffectual otherwise and were running out. Thor, Hulk, and himself would wade into the nest and decapitate everything in site. Black Widow would stay on the edge, killing singles that attempted to escape. Steve desperately wanted to light the bastards up, the ominous feeling weighing heavier and heavier, but the cyborgs were impervious to electrical currents.

Thirty minutes passed—thirty minutes of oil slick, molting scales, and hard fighting—before Captain America noticed the sizable dent the Avengers had made in the group of cyborgs. Every Avenger's movements appeared stunted, dictated by settling fatigue and soreness. He opened his mouth to order a retreat to rest and regain strength while he and Black Widow kept the creatures at bay. Screams, one of surprise and the other of panic, trilled through the comms in his cowl.

Hawkeye shouted something about Black Widow being down and needing help. Captain America turned, and Steve stared at the woman on the ground surrounded by three enemies. She still fought from the ground even though blood oozed out of her stomach and leg. One of the creatures raised a clawed foot and kicked her head.

The roar that Steve released as he rushed at the creatures could have been mistaken for the Hulk's—his shield and body were everywhere around Natasha. Sanity temporarily vacated his thoughts. He left the others on their own, but he would be damned if he lost another one of his friends. Sensing weakness, the creatures migrated toward Natasha and Steve. Thor and Hulk continued battering the diminishing group from the back while Steve, a one-man army by himself, decapitated everything that came within five feet of Natasha.

Steve didn't stop until Thor caught his shield and fist. Even then, he tried to keep moving until Thor's deep voice broke the battle haze.

“Steven, calm yourself. The battle is won. We are victorious.” Thor kept a grip on Steve, waiting until his shoulders sagged before releasing him.

“Nat,” Clint shouted, jumping from Tony's arms before the Iron Man even hit the ground. He skidded next to the bleeding woman, his hands hovering over the wounds. “Nat, stay awake.” Steve flinched at the panicked edge to Clint's tone.

Background murmurs over the comms mentioned medical evacuation and treatment, but Steve didn't catch any of it. Blood rushed through his ears, his vision graying near the edges as he stared around at his pale and tired teammates.

~*~*~*~

That night was the worst since Steve first came out of the ice.

Despite Natasha being okay and back at Avengers Tower the same night with what she said were superfluous wounds that looked worse than they were, Steve still dreamt.

Bucky fell from the train over and over again, always in the background, even as faceless creatures tore Natasha apart in front of a pre-serum Steve. He kept calling out movements to his remaining teammates, but every call was wrong. 

A rocket hit Tony and flaming bits of the Iron Man suit and burnt flesh rained down around Steve. 

Thor, invincible Thor, had Loki standing over him with the scepter at his chest and soon turned against the Earth and Asgard with his brother's whispering in his ear. 

Bruce underwent torture after torture, just as had been described to Steve when Bruce was rescued from General Ross. The General succeeded in his ultimate experiment in his dreams. 

Clint, having been collapsed over what was left of Natasha, finally stood and approached Steve. Murder filled his eyes as he took a shot and the arrow sticking out from Steve's bony chest didn't hurt as much as watching Clint jump from Bucky's train into a field of stalagmites.

Steve collapsed, his fingers wrapping around the arrow that multiplied into six before his eyes. His short gasps did nothing to fill his lungs. He was panicking, but he also felt his lungs drowning in blood from internal injuries.

And then Natasha looked at him. He lost what remained of his sanity under the gaze of her one remaining eye peering at him from her shredded and broken face. Her grin, minus a few teeth and skin and muscle, finally made him scream.

~*~*~*~

Steve thrashed against his sheets, his breathing labored and short, his eyes wide and full of tears, his throat raw from screaming in his sleep. A worried face, framed by blond hair, appeared in his field of vision, its lips moving but unheard. Whatever hell this person intended for Steve, it was nothing compared to his own hell—his own dreams.

One somewhat rational thought pinged through Steve's brain, colored by his nightmare, and his thrashing began anew. Bewildered but determined, Thor kept his grip constant on Steve's wrists.

“Steve, relax.” Natasha's soft voice against his ear broke him. Tears began pouring down his cheeks again as he shut his eyes, turning away from her voice. “Today is the third day of June in 2012. I'm here. Thor is beside you. Tony, Bruce, and Clint, they're here, too.” She ran her fingers through Steve's sweat-soaked hair. “None of us are hurt, Steve. We're all okay.”

Natasha's soothing tone calmed Steve's thrashing, but his panic attack continued, his breathing too short and too quick and his lungs were screaming and his thoughts were racing with apologies and he watched them all die because of his bad calls.

Bruce's face replaced Thor's, though Steve still felt one of Thor's hands against his. He clung to the god, his feverish gaze focused on Bruce's tired eyes.

“Steve, I need you to calm down. If you don't, you're going to hurt yourself.” The doctor held up his hand. “Try to match your breathing to the movement of my hand. Up, breathe in.” Bruce moved his hand up. “Down, breathe out.” He moved his hand down.

After a few tense moments, Steve managed to follow Bruce's instructions. His head hurt, his chest hurt, his fingers and toes were numb.

“Are you back with us, Steven?” Thor's soft rumble worked against the chaos in Steve's mind.

Steve nodded, inhaling slowly. “I'm sorry. I never meant to bother you with this.” He couldn't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

“Is that what you think you are? Because I think you're sorely mistaken. Drinking all my coffee is a bother. Or when Pepper corners me for meetings or cuts off my alcohol.” Tony leaned against the wall opposite Steve's bed, his arms crossed. He was nervous—Steve had noticed that Tony rambled when he got nervous. The goggles on his head paired with the stained wife-beater he wore said he had been in his lab until recently.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Natasha's hand had yet to stop petting through Steve's hair. The motion, while appreciated, felt strange coming from her.

“My needs come after my team's. Bruce needed us.”

Bruce tensed. “But what about before my capture? This has been ongoing since the ice, right?”

Steve nodded, closing his eyes again.

“Keeping these things bottled up doesn't help. No matter what, you've gotta have someone to rely on.” Clint's voice caused Steve to tense again, memories of his nightmare creeping back into his mind. The archer's callused fingers briefly gripped Steve's shoulder before he retreated. “Any one of us are willing to be that someone.”

Reopening his eyes, Steve glanced around at his team, the same look meeting his gaze on each face. No one person pitied him, but they understood and wished to help him. He let out a shuddering breath and let the dam break—everything he had held in since Bucky's death finally flowed out of him.

Through it all, his team stayed with him, their comforting gestures grounding him as he mourned the life he had lost and the friends he now feared losing.


	3. Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha would rather be alone even though she can't stand the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any major spoilers from Age of Ultron in this chapter, but I did take knowledge from the movie (and possibly comic-verse?) and twisted it into what I needed. Natasha's was exceptionally hard to write...
> 
> Also, the next chapter might be posted tomorrow, but I'm running on the expectation that it'll be posted Saturday. Inspiration hit me and I'm combining two of the Avengers' stories in the next chapter since they follow along the same train of thought. I don't want to take away from them, so the chapter will be longer than usual and may require more time to write.

Solitude comforted Natasha—let her work through thoughts and assess her own and others' actions—at least until her mistakes stuck out. In the past, those had been letting the rare target slip away or a knife hitting the heart a quarter of an inch off-track. Now her mind focused on two nights ago when JARVIS had woken all the Avengers and directed them to Steve's room.

Comfort and Natasha Romanov did not go hand-in-hand, but she knew what a panic attack looked like. Aside from Bruce and Clint, she figured she was the only one who could help. She refused to think that some kind of motherly instinct still existed in the mind broken by the Red Room. No, as a vital part of the team, Steve needed to be okay.

Yet she kept dwelling on the incident.

Until Director Fury called her into HQ alone, which meant one of two things: someone needed to die a certain way or he needed intel.

Lying in a ditch covered with tree branches, dirt, and moss five days later in backwoods Europe, Natasha forced away her racing thoughts. Clint handled prolonged stake-outs better than she did, but Fury persuaded her that he needed her abilities. The target's file stated that his paranoia and suspicion of assassination attempts kept him sequestered with a trusted household of bodyguards and his family. Considering that the man needed to die off-the-grid for a political gambit, the Avengers couldn't be called in as a team.

Spending three days in a ditch, or anywhere, alone put Natasha on edge. Thoughts slithered like eels through the crevices of her brain, and, with no distraction available, she had no choice but to let them continue uninhibited.

A chill from the cooler European weather had settled in her bones within six hours of beginning her stake-out. Silence pounded against her ears in time with her blood pulsing—an inner metronome that would only stop ticking when her heart stopped. Memories of another metronome poured from her subconscious, the eels of her thoughts shivering in anticipation.

Natasha never spoke about the Red Room. Clint knew about it, but didn't know specifics of what she went through. Neither did SHIELD and her file only referenced it. Fury knew the bare minimum in order to keep her protected and employed on his good word. 

The metronome kept ticking. Her heart kept beating. Soft echoes of Chopin's “Prelude in A” ghosted over the ocean of Natasha's mind, slowly disturbing the waters until his voice cut through the notes.

“Again,” came the curt response. He wanted the best—steel poured and molded beneath the porcelain smiles the girls showed to the world.

She remembered her own time in the ballet room. Her ankles swelled the first few months she performed the lessons, but her clumsy attempts and determination didn't please her instructors like she hoped. The clumsiness was drained from her, unnecessary and unwanted, just as her tears and sweat no longer had a place in her body.

The day Natasha performed perfectly in every single one of her classes marked an increased interest in her abilities. Not long afterwards, the Red Room's mistress summoned her to one of the dreaded sparring matches.

Hesitance rewarded Natasha with knife wounds, later scars, burned into her chest and breasts. Her only friend in the school—the only person Natasha trusted—attacked her, fear filling the girl's eyes and limbs. Natasha watched her, nimbly danced around her, the slow movements no match for her speed. The girl refused to give up. Natasha had no choice but to slit the girl's throat and watch the life and guilt fade from her eyes. A peaceful smile followed her to death, leaving Natasha to wonder if death was not preferable to what was to come.

Some days Natasha wished for death. The brainwashing, the blood, the whimpering, begging, pleading for mercy. She let it happen, let the Red Room turn her into their best killer. Sparring matches never bothered Natasha again, though some girls opted to end their own lives than have Natasha take them. Any girl that might have once been a friend kept their distance—no one wanted to befriend a monster.

Boots stomping across the ground finally broke the memories flashing through Natasha's mind. Blood dripped from where her nails bit into her clenched hands. She relaxed them, willing circulation back into her pale knuckles and the rest of her numb body. Sharp eyes flashed in the falling twilight, counting ten bodyguards on the ground and some type of vehicle that her target would be in. Her fingers flexed, the vivid memories still circling and calling for death from the assassin in her.

The first two guards didn't know what happened. Natasha snapped one neck with her arms, using his body as leverage to jump and wrap her legs around the other. Squeezing her thighs and twisting ended the second guard's life with a muffled crack. A third guard yelled, anger and vengeance for his dead associates clouding his judgment. Natasha dropped, putting the corpse between her and the others as they opened fire.

Natasha sprung back out during the lull when the guards needed to reload. The angry man fell first—he attempted to bludgeon her with his gun, but slipping around the attack and burying one of her knives into his throat ended his life.

One by one the guards fell—another knife stuck out of one's eye while Natasha sent the fifth to his grave by overloading his heart with a modified taser. While he twitched in his death spasm, she stole his gun, shooting two of the guards, one through the head once and the second twice, before dropping and rolling beneath the stopped vehicle they had been guarding.

Bullets pinged off the bottom of the vehicle and burrowed into the dirt. Faint whimpers and shifting floated through the floor to Natasha's ears. She reached into her boot, pulled out another knife, and waited for her opportunity. The hail of bullets subsided. Hushed whispers followed until a voice ordered one of the other two remaining guards to check beneath the vehicle. She held her breath, poised for the attack, and struck once the guard's foot stepped into her line of sight.

His howl as she severed his Achille's heel was enough to wake the dead. He fell to the ground beside her, writhing and screaming in pain. She ended his screams by cutting his throat through to the vocal cords. Warm blood rushed over her hand, but she paid it little mind. More red on her hands would hardly be noticed. 

The last two fell shortly to another slit knife and broken neck.

Wrenching open the door to the vehicle, Natasha's cold eyes settled on the thin man cowering in the corner. A gunshot rang out, followed by the thud of the remaining bodyguard and driver that attempted to slip through the open space from the cab to the interior. The assassin climbed into the vehicle, sat on the seat opposite her target, and smiled.

“We could have met on friendlier conditions if you were more open with your guests.” She hardly recognized her own voice.

The target's gaunt face stared at her in terror. “Please, spare my life,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together. “I can pay you whatever sum you wish. Or would you rather have fame? I can give you anything, yes?”

Natasha's lips thinned. Raising one of the stolen guns caused her target to spew a new marathon of pleads and bribes. She ignored them. “SHIELD doesn't deal with scum like you.” The words felt empty. Why did SHIELD even keep a monster like her around? 

Her finger simply twitched and the gun sounded one more time. Blood and brain matter coated the back of the vehicle, the target's mouth sagging in his death. Natasha dropped the gun, slipped out of the vehicle, and melted into the night. No one would know what happened in the middle of nowhere or that she had even been there.

~*~*~*~

Clint met her at the door of the Avengers' living quarters. He refrained from touching her, but his eyes said everything. Natasha tried, and failed, to give him their signal that she was okay. She wasn't okay. She was far from okay, and she hated that weakness. Ghosts of the Red Room flickered around her head even when she sat on one of the couches and cradled her head in her hands.

“You haven't cleaned up.” Clint spoke in a matter-of-fact tone—such things helped ground Natasha after a hard mission.

“It would've been lonely.” A code phrase that fueled her partner's worry.

“Then maybe you should join me.” An invitation Natasha desperately wanted to accept, but whispers from her past kept her frozen.

“What's this? Our fair maiden has finally returned?” Thor's booming voice caught Natasha off-guard and she was on her feet in an instant, her personal gun aimed at the god's chest.

Tension continued to increase until Natasha's hands fell, dropping her gun on the nearby table. “I apologize, Thor.” She expected judgment, criticism, a cry to do better.

“You have had a hard time, my friend.” Instead she heard understanding and sorrow. “The echoes of our pasts are mighty enemies with few weaknesses.” Her head snapped up, her mask momentarily gone while she gazed at Thor in shock. “I have found, however, that friends are a strong weapon against such things.”

“Friends are a weakness.” The answer is automatic, cited verbatim from Natasha's time in the Red Room.

“Whomever taught you that is, as the Man of Iron would say, full of shit.” Thor crossed his arms, smiling confidently. Clint snickered off to the side despite the severity of the situation, and even Natasha's lips twitched at the silliness of the phrase from the God of Thunder.

“I wouldn't make it a habit to take advice from Stark. Have you seen his workstation?” Natasha didn't feel like joking, yet here she was almost smiling.

“True. The blend of oil and coffee is, perhaps, not a healthy choice for Midgardians,” Thor quipped, grinning. “In all seriousness, though, I would accept the Hawk's offer of companionship since he holds your trust. Afterwards, I shall be around if you would like to seek me out.”

Clint glanced between the two, blinking at Natasha's soft word of thanks and acceptance of his offer. He held his arm out to her, bringing the other up when she collapsed against him. She mumbled something when he lifted her into his arms, but did nothing else aside from close her eyes.

The two agents had gone through the after-mission motions enough times that the bath Clint and Natasha shared soothed, more than frayed, the assassin's nerves. He paid special attention to her shoulders—the place where Natasha's stress gathered—and her hands—the tools that she could never fully clean.

And, just as he had promised, Thor sat in the living room waiting for Natasha's return. He offered a warm smile and motioned to the seats around the room. She took the seat beside the couch he sat on, vaguely wondering what she was doing, but she also found herself relaxing the longer Thor shared stories of Asgard and his own adventures.

With Thor's soothing baritone chasing away the ghosts, Natasha slipped into a light sleep, her legs tucked beneath her body and peace smoothing out her features.


	4. Mortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is a human with no superpowers and a short life span. Thor is a God who will one day watch his friends die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is split between Clint and Thor--I did my best to balance their stories, but by doing so, I think I took away from the severity of their emotions and what they feel. If I did, I apologize for that and I would like any suggestions to fix it.
> 
> Also, I want to put a warning. A child does die in this chapter, and it is not a pretty death. I don't go into detail, but the imagination is both a wonderful and horrible thing. If this is a trigger, I apologize. The death occurs in the second instance of Clint's part of the chapter.
> 
> (I also apologize if I made a mistake during Thor's first appearance. I can't remember the last time I watched the first Thor movie.)

The week that SHIELD sent Clint, Natasha, and Steve on a covert mission was the week that Thor visited Asgard. None of the Avengers liked the idea of being spread so thin, but no one, aside from Steve, voiced their opinions.

“Remind me again why it's just us three??” Clint let his head fall back against the tree he had been in for two hours. “We could've already been back at the Tower by now if we had Banner and Stark.”

“We need an ambush tactic and they're too noticeable. Even Thor wouldn't be here if he wasn't in Asgard.” Natasha's soft voice floated through his communication device, the strange lilt still in her voice whenever she spoke about the God of Thunder.

Clint chuckled. “I swear you have the hots for him, Nat, the way you get all breathless over his name.”

Spluttered Russian curses erupted from her end, tickling Clint's funny bone further.

“Quiet, you two.” Steve's “serious Captain” voice cut across their banter for the moment.

Twirling an arrow between his fingers, Clint closed his eyes and blocked out the weak morning sun. Things were changing—not just in the world or even in the minute shifts in SHIELD, but within the Avengers, too. The archer felt the air relaxing when everyone was together, though they still tip-toed around each other. 

Bruce still couldn't look Natasha in the eye from what the Hulk did to her during the Chitauri Invasion and Stark ignored her to the best of his ability. Steve didn't know what to think about either of the SHIELD agents, respected Bruce, but continued butting heads with Stark. Thor was just. . . Thor.

“A nice dysfunctional family,” Clint muttered.

“What was that, Barton? I didn't catch it.”

Clint jumped and opened his eyes at Steve's voice crackling through comms. “Nothing, Cap. Just amusing myself.”

“Stay focused,” was the expected reply.

Easier said than done. Clint glanced out over the country road to the farm house they were watching and he thought, again, about how busy SHIELD was these days. A branch snapped somewhere off to Clint's left, but Steve's muttered curse said it had been their Captain shifting position. Natasha chose to wait closer to the farm house and act as the lookout for the back of the property.

Whatever SHIELD's target had done to piss them off, Clint almost felt sorry for them.

“Movement in the front.” Natasha's whisper broke the silence, causing Clint to lift his eyes and focus on the porch.

A girl, no older than twelve, in a purple-and-blue dress stumbled down the steps with a pail in her hands.

“Just a girl. Unless SHIELD is killing off kids now?” Steve's growing distaste for the secret agency bled into his question.

“That's not in our job description.” Clint interrupted Natasha's response. “Anyway, our target is female, but older—in her forties to fifties. Possibly also an involved accomplice.”

“Which could be the girl,” Natasha pointed out.

“Watch the girl, but don't harm her unless necessary.” Steve's sharp tone held no room for argument.

“Yes, sir.” Natasha sounded less than pleased.

“Hate to break up the lover's spat, but we've got out target.” Clint narrowed his eyes, following the beak-nosed woman's progress across the yard.

“That's Mistress Beckham?”

“Don't sound so surprised, Captain. Everyone is capable of murder.” The sound of Natasha shifting crackled through their comms.

Steve, clad in dark green and brown instead of his usual colors, crouched and ran from the tree line, skipping across the road. He hit the ground as soon as he reached the farm-house's overgrown lawn. A flash of black appeared and disappeared as Natasha moved from the hedges closer to the target. Clint remained in his tree, his eyes never leaving the woman, raised his bow and kept her in his sights.

~*~*~*~

Asgard appeared splendid after Thor's time on Midgard—like drinking a fine wine after having nothing but piss passed as ale. He walked through the halls of his father's castle, basking in the revels and recognition that stemmed from Loki's capture and imprisonment. Making his way to the throne room, Thor centered on the strange feeling deep in his chest that appeared once he left Midgard. He still did not know what had caused the tightness.

“My son.” Frigga's appearance startled Thor, but his resulting smile lit the antechamber before the throne room.

“Mother,” he shouted, voice jovial, “it is a pleasure to see you after so long.”

Frigga stepped forward and opened her arms, an invitation which Thor gratefully accepted. Even to a grown God, a mother's hug could heal almost any wound or fatigue. He felt stress and anxiety pour from him in waves as he leaned into Frigga's hug, yet that tight ache in his heart remained once he pulled away.

“I should say that to you, Thor. We haven't heard anything from you in so long, we were beginning to worry.”

“On Midgard, only four and a half months have passed. Not much time at all,” Thor reassured his mother, catching one of her hands and running his thumb along her knuckles.

The Queen's eyes flitted across his face for so long that Thor began to grow uncomfortable. Just as he was about to question her, she smiled and pulled him into the throne room.

“Thor has returned, my King.” Frigga announced their son, resting her hand on his shoulder as he passed.

“Father,” Thor greeted, stopping just before Odin's throne and bowing his head.

No one spoke, allowing the silence to lengthen while they waited on Odin to welcome Thor back home. A moment of panic filled the God of Thunder—would his father not accept him back in Asgard's halls? Had he done something to displease the All-Father?

“Welcome back, Thor.” Odin offered a faint smile when Thor lifted his chin. “Is it not comforting to walk these familiar halls once more?”

Warnings resounded in Thor's mind. Odin's words and Frigga's reactions swirled around his head, his inner turmoil obvious to his parents.

“Thor,” Frigga tried to waylay the coming storm.

“Is your invitation nothing more than an excuse to lure me away from Midgard?”

Odin's jaw tightened. “Yes. You have learned during your time there, as I ordered and hoped, but it is past time you returned to where you belong and stop these foolish games.” 

Growing up, Thor respected and idolized his father which, in hindsight, might have been a major cause of what happened both with the Jotun and on Midgard with the Destroyer. Odin, though the respectable All-Father, expected to be obeyed and raged when he was not. Thor hoped his father loved him and Loki somewhere within his heart, but if so, they had not been able to see it for a long time.

“Foolish games? Father, I am helping protect Midgard.” Thor regained his voice. “Is that not what we aim to do with the nine realms? Protect them?”

Ice flooded Odin's eyes. “It is not quite the same ideal when you cause the danger to the realm.”

Anger pulsed through Thor's veins. “I caused the Chitauri Invasion? Father, the Midgardians played with forces they didn't comprehend when they activated the Tesseract—a beacon in the universe. You know this.”

“And who led the Chitauri? Who is locked within the depths of this palace as we speak?”

“You blame me for Loki's betrayal? For the Chitauri Invasion of Midgard?” Acidic disbelief burned in Thor's throat. Memories of both events haunted the God, every moment plagued by what-if scenarios. He still suffered for the crimes of his brother, ached for the loss of kinship, but never blamed himself past not being a good and understanding brother.

“Had you not callously attacked the Jotun, your brother would be roaming these halls a free man and Midgard would not yet be healing from an alien invasion.” Odin's clinical tony rang throughout the room, crushing Thor's thoughts and constricting his chest.

“If this is what I have to look forward to should I come home, I will remain in Midgard.” Turning on his heel, cape billowing, Thor walked away from Odin, ignoring Frigga's pained look and outstretched hand.

The All-Father called after him, his words spearing his heart. “Should you remain in Midgard, you will watch your Avengers die one by one, Thor. Once you have nothing left to protect there, Asgard will still be waiting.”

Thor slammed the doors of the throne room, the echo ringing in his ears.

~*~*~*~

Mistress Beckham danced around Steve, teasing him between her sneers and cackles. The solider had expected a surrender once he confronted Beckham, not for the fifty-year-old woman to attack him. Natasha hung back, watching the fight and preparing to step in if needed. Clint kept his arrow trained on the target's shoulders, watching her muscles tense with every movement.

“Pretty spry for an old woman,” Steve muttered, his voice echoing to Clint and Natasha.

“Running and hiding makes you craftier as you age.” Damn, but even the way the woman talked reminded Clint of a fairy-tale witch. “You learn some tricks.”

Ragged breathing and grunts poured into Clint's ear as Steve continued fighting so that he almost didn't hear the branches snapping along the treeline. He mentally cursed, turning his head and scanning the ground.

Two pinpricks of white floated in the bush just beside his tree. A chill cascaded down Clint's spine. Slowly, he turned his body and bow toward the circles, barely daring to breathe. They moved closer to him, out of the forest shadows and into the light—the girl with the pail from before stared up at him. He wanted to relax, wanted the girl not to be a threat, but the emptiness in her eyes told him otherwise.

“For example,” Beckham's creaking voice spilled into Clint's ear as if she were right next to Steve, “how much do you care for your teammates, mighty man? How much of a liability are they?”

The girl raised her hands, lifting her pail and pouring it over herself. An acrid scent, one of gasoline, wafted around Clint's nose and his eyes widened.

“Captain, the girl is a threat. I'm taking the shot.”

“You sure?” Steve grunted, Beckham cackling in the background.

Clint watched the girl lift a box of matches from the ground. “Positive.” He forced his hands to steady, glanced at the girl's blank eyes, and paused. She took the opportunity.

Fire from the dropped match ignited the pool of gas at her feet and spread, licking at her shoes and the hem of her dress. Clint jerked himself out of his stupor and let loose his arrow. She dodged, her movements jerky and unrefined—like that of a puppet with tight strings.

“Captain, I need that witch dead,” Clint shouted, shifting to a crouch on his tree branch.

“What do you think I've been trying to do?”

“If you don't, you're not going to have much of me left but barbecue.”

The girl started to climb his tree once the fire had taken to her dress.

“Time's running out. What choice do you make—kill me or save your friend?” Beckham taunted Steve.

“I've got Clint. Kill the hag.” Natasha's fury even translated through comms.

Clint stored his bow, having not stored any of his grappling arrows for such a small mission in the woods, glancing around for an escape route. Nearby trees looked to be too far out of reach save for a smaller one directly to his left. Jumping over the girl and grabbing for the branches as he fell was his only escape method since she'd already shimmied halfway up the tree.

“Gonna have to jump.” Clint slowed his breathing, focusing on the first branch he would use in the other tree.

“Negative, Barton,” Steve snapped. “That jump'll hurt.”

“But I won't die of burns or smoke inhalation. Sorry, it's my call, Cap.” He leaped before more arguments and before his mind could catch up with his body.

Blood rained to the ground where the branches ripped his palms and fingers open. The wind, paired with flailing for a stable hold, reduced his speed a fraction, but not near enough. A larger branch connected with his chest, momentarily stopping, but also stunning, him. His body weight shifted and he fell to the side. Another branch connected before Clint finally hit the ground on his back, his breath stolen and his mind thinking he'd never breathe again, it hurt so much.

Shadows flickered around him, heat ate at the bottom of his boots, and only a sheer force of will helped Clint roll onto his stomach and start a slow army crawl.

A pair of hands wrapped around his arm, tightening when he struggled, and pulled him farther from the spreading fire before painfully lifting him to his feet. His blurred vision caught a glimpse of Natasha's frantic eyes before his mind shut down from the pain.

~*~*~*~

Upon returning to the Tower, Thor felt something wrong in the air.

“Welcome back, Thor. Misters Stark and Banner requested that I inform you that the Avengers are at SHIELD's medical bay.” JARVIS's welcome did nothing to stem the chaotic storm inside Thor.

Thor left without thank you, flying as fast as possible to rejoin his comrades. He pushed past nurses, doctors, and agents who attempted to keep him separate from his team, yet he would have none of it. They removed themselves from his path or were roughly pushed aside until the hands on his chest were Steve's.

“We've got a party now. Someone break out the tequila.”

“You're already drunk.”

“Which is more reason for tequila, Banner.” Tony wobbled over to Thor, awkwardly throwing his arm over the God's shoulder. “Glad you could make it.”

“Man of Iron, I have never seen you this intoxicated. What happened?” Bewildered though he was, Thor did a mental headcount and came up one short.

“Our mission got out of control.” Pain and anger seethed beneath Steve's words. “Clint is in surgery.”

Thor lifted his gaze, catching Natasha's and a silent question passed between them. “Our target turned out to be a legitimate witch. She had a thrall that she sent after Clint. In order to escape, he jumped from his position.” The aloofness in her voice told Thor the severity of their archer's condition.

“I apologize, my friends. If I had been here, perhaps I could have helped.” Odin's words rang hollow and true in Thor's ears. The Avengers would die, perhaps sooner than later, and he would continue living. Was it worth the connection with these Midgardians only to watch it be ripped from him in the future?

“Fury only wanted the three of us. It would have ended like this either way.” Hatred filled Steve to the brim, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“I am sure that you did all you could, good Captain. There is never a moment where you do not give everything for us,” Thor reassured Steve, gently gripping his shoulder. “Did you manage to kill the witch?”

Natasha and Steve both nodded, their faces grim. With nothing more to say in the way of comfort, Thor sat in one of the seats and waited with the others. Clint must have been in surgery for quite some time before his arrival as not even fifteen minutes later, the doctor joined them. Their archer would live, but required uninterrupted bed-rest. At first he wouldn't allow visitors, but Natasha's threats changed his mind. She and Steve slipped through the doors, leaving Bruce, Thor, and Tony behind.

Tony continued drinking out of a bottle he had brought from the Tower. Bruce sat beside him, his elbows on his knees and his head lowered. Thor's ears caught both men muttering—one to himself and the other chanting his meditation mantras. The God watched his two teammates and recalled his words on the Helicarrier during the Chitauri Invasion.

Yes, Midgardians are tiny—they would not have saved their New York if the coincidences and luck hadn't piled up during the fight against Loki and the Chitauri. They would have died, but they wouldn't have surrendered. Thor exhaled, nodding to himself. Though their lives would have been forfeit, the Avengers would have kept fighting. Though they are tiny compared to him and the rest of the universe, their stubbornness makes them strong. Clint would recover and heal with time because of his own stubborn streak.

Yet stubbornness could not save the world on its own, nor could the Midgardians do so forever. Though Thor hated to admit his father's words rang truthfully, he knew they did. One day he would watch a friend die, either because of age or a mistake. And should that mistake be made because of him—because of the God included in the Avengers—Thor would move on but never forgive himself.

~*~*~*~

Two nights passed before Clint woke. The Avengers took turns watching over their healing teammate, forcing Natasha and Steve to rest by taking their spots. Thor had relieved Steve four hours ago, and Bruce was due any minute. Clint chose that time to rejoin them.

“Why the mopey look?”

Thor met Clint's glazed eyes and smiled as the relief flooded his veins. “It is good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, I'm sure. Didn't know you had an inside voice.” The archer slurred his words, still heavily sedated by the morphine drip beside him.

Beeping machines and the faint sound of the nurse's voices filled the silence between them.

“I am sorry I was not here to help. Perhaps I could have forced your SHIELD to allow me to come with you.” Thor shook his head, clenched his fists. “If they knew for certain your target was a witch, I should have been sent with you.”

“The girl?”

Thor's brow furrowed until he recalled Natasha speaking about the witch's thrall. Sorrow filled his heart. “Dead.”

Clint remained silent though his lips thinned. Thor unclenched his fists.

“You will recover, but require at least a month's bed-rest. The Captain and Man of Iron have already started making arrangements with JARVIS.”

A soft groan dragged a grin from the God. “Not a baby.” Words were still hard for the groggy Clint.

“No, you aren't,” Thor agreed softly. “But you are human. And very tiny.”

Confusion answered Thor's statement. Instead of answering, Thor simply rested his hand on top of Clint's, letting the warmth and pulse of blood beneath his fingers reassure them both.

~*~*~*~

Though Clint wouldn't admit to it outside of his head, he took comfort from Thor's hand on his. Waking to an almost immortal being at his bedside was the last bit of humbling Clint could handle for the week. Knowing that the God cared lessened the panic swelling beneath the morphine.

Clint almost died—that was fact. The way he fought, he needed to be in precarious positions outside of the battle. His teammates would almost always be too far away to help when danger found him. Did the Avengers even need him? What was an archer but a liability to the superhuman beings that can fly and punch through walls and break an alien's neck with their thighs? All Clint did, in the words of Tony, was poke them with pointy things and explosives. The only human on the team amounted to nothing short of a liability.

Clenching his fist, Clint allowed the IV needle to press uncomfortably against his skin. The pain grounded him. Questions of his mortality increased as the days passed and he grew older. Tony could continue fighting well into his sixties, if he wanted, with his regular improvements on the Iron Man suit. He couldn't imagine Natasha throwing in the towel until she just couldn't walk anymore. The three remaining Avengers were, for the most part, immortal and invincible—Bruce, Steve, and Thor would live long lives.

And Clint would be left behind.

The archer growled softly, shaking the morphine thoughts from his head and clenching his fist harder. He hated these types of drugs for what they did to him.

“My friend, relax.” Clint did the opposite when Thor's hand brushed through his hair. “We will remain by your side.”

Thor didn't know what was going through Clint's head—he couldn't know, he wasn't a mind reader like his black sheep brother. Clint shouldn't have found comfort in Thor's words for the worries and questions running loops around him.

But he did.

Clint would live to continue the fight, to give his all for the Avengers and the people he wanted to protect, even if it meant being over-shadowed by the superheroes in the team.

Thor would remain on Midgard, aware of the limited time with his companions, but not allow fear to control his actions. That night he swore he would be the first line of defense for his tiny friends.


	5. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Tony breaks after enough pain piles up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to see Age of Ultron a third time yesterday, and I'm even more impatient to introduce the Twins later in this story.
> 
> As for this chapter, it contains spoilers from Iron Man 3 as it takes place in the months after the events in that movie. Keep that in mind if you haven't seen it.
> 
> (Also, I live in Tennessee, so I think I can get away with the "insult" where that's concerned. I'm sorry if I offend anyone else.)

Stark Industries managed the fallout from the Mandarin incident and saved its stocks and general business. People around the world either supported Tony or approved of what they called payback for his part in wars, but no one doubted his ability, and therefore his company's, to overcome a setback. Pepper Potts returned to Stark Industries within two months of her ordeal, further boosting buyer morale and trust. She needed hourly breaks and couldn't over-exert herself, but she returned nonetheless and with a vengeance.

Tony Stark did not manage the fallout from the Mandarin incident. Alcohol ran through his blood system like oil and marathon inventing binges became the norm. He returned to the Tower three weeks after the surgery to remove the arc reactor despite doctor's warnings and medical advice. The Avengers caught rare glimpses of him, but otherwise he remained in his lab, refusing all visitors except for Rhodey. Only communications from JARVIS assured the team that Tony still lived.

Scattered remnants of experiments littered Tony's workspace. Dummy, You, and Butterfingers chittered and wheeled around the lab, attempting to organize the mess. Tony ignored them, concentrating on creating something from the wires and metal beneath his hands. Just one successful item—he only needed one to remind himself he wasn't a complete failure, but even that seemed out of his reach.

His hands shook at the memories—his Malibu mansion destroyed, being stranded in hicktown Tennessee, watching Pepper die and come back to life, destroying the Iron Man suits and the only good that ever came from his genius. Even after all of that, he couldn't save his strained relationship with Pepper. Of course she agreed to stay on at Stark Industries, and she assured Tony he always had a friend in her, but he lost her and her trust all the same. He couldn't keep one person around so how could he even hope that the five Avengers upstairs would stay near him?

Pain lanced through Tony's hands where he had squeezed a piece of metal too hard. Scowling, he knocked the materials off the table with his arm, sending his robot helpers into another frenzy. A surge of rage joined with the helpless feeling that had lurked in the back of his mind since the attack in Malibu. The feelings mounted until his vision blurred, and, in a moment of weakness, he let them loose.

Tony's anger poured from his tired body in yells and screams. Unimportant bits of metal and scrapped trial runs met his ire as he kicked, punched, and threw whatever came across his path. Dummy, You, and Butterfingers chattered around him—JARVIS's alarmed voice should have worried Tony, drawn him out of the fog, but it didn't.

Failure and destruction colored Tony's life. Never being good enough for Howard as a child, only accepting the work of being Stark Industries's poster boy and letting Obie run the company, manufacturing weapons of destruction that were dispersed to terrorists, putting Pepper's life in danger—the list was never-ending. He could never be a hero, no matter how hard or successfully he pretended otherwise.

Scrap parts and tools went flying across the room. Even during this fit, Tony reminded himself of Howard when a business venture or experiment went wrong. The genius Starks rarely let their emotions rule their actions, but they built up because of the restraint. Experiments and labs were the closest things to take out the anger on when the emotions burst. Comparing himself to his father didn't help Tony's plummeting mood. He kicked his chair out of the way and left it where it fell on its side.

Did he deserve even this modicum of pleasure? He had made his home in science, nested in lab settings, flourished under the feet of his neglectful father from his own intelligence. Everything he now had was from his own mind and hard work. Everything the Avengers used in battle now came straight from his lab and his own two hands.

A desperate and unhinged laugh bubbled out of Tony's throat. The day he stopped creating was the day the Avengers would leave him—he saw no other reaction when their benefactor stopped supplying the goods. He certainly wasn't invited into the Avengers Initiative because of his skills in battle—SHIELD needed the Iron Man suit and Tony's mind. Without the suit, he was only an engineer that could be replaced if he fought against the system.

“Tony, stop it!”

Arms wrapped around Tony's shoulders, a large hand inches from where the arc reactor was housed and the scar tissue from the surgery still ached. Tony gasped, ramming his elbow into the person's gut and twisting away from their hold. His mind, forever moving at a fast pace, recognized Steve and Bruce, but his body shied away from them. Steve wouldn't have any of that, following Tony and once again dragging him into a loose hug.

“You should have talked to us. We should have forced our way down here days ago. This shouldn't have forced us to act.” Steve muttered in his ear.

“No, no, no, you don't belong down here.” Tony flinched at the bewildered hurt that filled Steve's eyes though he still pushed him away. Like everything else in his life, that came out wrong. “I don't. . . You must. . . think I'm pathetic. I didn't want you to see. None of you.”

“That's unfair,” Bruce said, voice as soft as his footsteps as he approached the two. He watched Tony like he would a wild animal. “Despite appearances, you were there for the rest of us when we needed you. Isn't it our turn to do the same?”

Tony's eyes widened. He took a step back for each one of Bruce's until his hip hit his workstation table. “Sorry, I don't do the whole comfort “Kumbayah” thing.”

“Locking yourself in your lab isn't comforting for any of us.” Steve glanced around at the destruction, sorrow tugging at his lips. “It doesn't look like you're taking any comfort from it either.”

“No, no, no,” Tony shouted, throwing his hands up and pointing at the other two men. “You're not allowed to do this. You're not supposed to come down here and act worried and sorry for my sake. Just say you need me for the Avengers, damn my emotions and my problems.” The emotions in Tony boiled over again at the shocked looks Steve and Bruce gave him. Much to Tony's shame, tears pooled at the corners of his eyes and spilled over. “I did it when my parents died. I did it when I escaped from Afghanistan and got betrayed by Obie. I did it when I was dying from palladium poisoning and during the Invasion and why is this any different?”

The silence following Tony's outburst rang the loudest any of the three men had ever heard. Realization struck Tony, draining all remaining color from his face.

“Is that what people did to you, Tony? They made you push your problems to the side and keep working?” Steve's voice trembled. His eyes hardened when Tony wouldn't meet his gaze, anger burning in their depths. “Even Pepper? Rhodey?”

“I'm not an easy person to deal with at the best of times. How could they deal with me, fairly, at my worst?”

“Is that what Ms. Potts told you in the hospital?” Bruce asked, frowning at the tremble in Tony's shoulders at the mention of the woman.

“Pepper. . . deserves better than me. She'll find better than me.”

“No, Tony. She won't.”

Tony's head jerked up at Steve's cold voice, cringing away from the stoney look directed at him. “Wha-?”

“Pepper will never be able to find better than you, because there is no one better. So maybe you're a pain in the ass and maybe I wish I could put a muzzle on you sometimes,” Steve strode forward, gripping Tony's arm to keep him from running again, “but that doesn't mean I want someone else on our team. Not many people would have redirected that nuke during the Invasion knowing it was their lives or New York.” He squeezed Tony's shoulders. “No one would have taken five complete strangers into the most high-tech building in the United States, let alone the world, and trusted them with the codes to where your ideas come to life.”

The tears wouldn't stop coming and Tony hated crying, especially in front of people, but what was the correct reaction in the situation?

“Pepper can't find better, because very few people would give themselves so wholly and openly like you do.” Steve's look softened. “I'm sorry we didn't see that. Maybe we could have prevented this from happening.”

Tony lowered his gaze, gulped, and glanced between Steve and Bruce. The latter raised his hands, shaking his head with a small smile. “I don't have anything to say that can top that. We really do care, Tony, and we want to help.”

For the first time since Obadiah, Tony decided to give these guys—his teammates—his full trust. Bruce and Steve's tension melted at the resulting relief when Tony nodded.

“I'll try.”

“That's all we can ask, Tony,” Bruce reassured the engineer.

“Let these three start the clean-up and come upstairs,” Steve coaxed, his grip on Tony relaxing but not leaving.

“You're serious? My lab will be on fire by the time I get back.”

“Not like Dummy isn't good with a fire extinguisher.” Bruce smirked when Tony stuck his tongue out at him.

“Fine, fine. I'm outnumbered and outgunned. Weakest of the team outside the suit and all that.” Tony tried for nonchalant and failed miserably.

Instead of calling Tony out, Steve led him out of the lab, up the stairs to the elevator, and into the main living quarters, Bruce on their heels every step of the way. Three sets of eyes turned toward Tony upon their arrival, their scrutinizing gazes pushing him back into flight mode. He struggled against Steve's hand, but the soldier refused to release him.

“Stop looking at me like I'm on a buffet. I'm not edible. Imagine the hangover you'd get.” His voice didn't usually crack that badly.

“Sit with us, Anthony.” Thor's solemn tone chilled Tony, but he sat on the edge of one of the free coaches anyway. He really couldn't deny them if they wanted him there.

“This isn't intervention, is it? I've tried it before. And Alcoholic Anonymous. Nothing but hot air and a migraine for my trouble. You know the women that oversee those things are very snooty and think—”

“Stark,” Clint cut him off, giving Tony a tired grin, “shut up and watch the movie.”

Tony blinked. “Movie?”

JARVIS dimmed the lights at the mention of the word and the large-screen jumped to life. The Pixar lamp hopped across the screen and Tony almost complained that he wasn't five years old—that he'd never watched Disney or Pixar when he was a child—until the first scenes played.

By the end of Wall-E, Tony's eyes were bright again. He had complimented the creators when they followed technological rules correctly and corrected them when they failed to make sense. The Avengers listened in rapt attention even if they didn't understand everything he explained. Steve and Thor were avid listeners and interested learners, asking questions that caused the movie to be paused and rewound numerous times. Clint poked fun at Tony's huge brain and ego, and Bruce even pointed out a few moments Tony, much to his chagrin, missed. Natasha watched the proceedings, a silent guardian, but still there at 3 in the morning when the movie ended.

Scars never healed, but looking around and listening to his teammates, Tony understood that they could at least fade into the background—good memories replaced the bad, and broken trust could be repaired given enough time and care.


	6. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor requests more movies. The team is happy to oblige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that this is a day late! I'm in the Supernatural fandom and our season 10 finale was last night, so that kind of took over my life yesterday. ;w;
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if this isn't quite up to par. For some reason, this chapter is mostly story told through dialogue (and hopefully character building). The next chapter won't be so dialogue heavy, I promise.
> 
> (Can you believe that the first Hobbit movie was released on December 14, 2012?)

“Why does this man not take the old woman's letters to the village? Would he not be safer there?”

“Even if that was possible, it wouldn't be safer. You saw what happened to the girl who burned in her cellar.”

“Then why does he not just banish the old woman?”

“He's a regular human being. He doesn't have Mjolnir or some universal mumbo jumbo to help him.”

“I see. He must be quite brave then to be doing important work in such a dangerous place.”

“Totally missing the point of the movie.”

“Could you kindly shut the hell up, Point Break? We just missed a chunk of it.”

Clint and Thor cast sheepish looks at the pretending-to-be-annoyed Tony across the room.

“It's not a problem, sir.” JARVIS's voice echoed around them seconds before the movie on the screen rewound and paused. “Continue with any questions you may have and I shall start the movie again afterwards.”

Thor opened his mouth, another question on his tongue.

“Horror movies aren't supposed to make sense. They're supposed to freak you out, keep you on the edge of your seat, unable to sleep at night, all that spooky shit. Take him for example.” Tony nodded at Steve, smirking. “He won't be able to walk down the hall without looking over his shoulder tonight.”

Steve glared. “Not true. This isn't even all that scary.”

“I don't think your chair agrees with you.” Natasha pointed out the indents left behind in the chair from Steve's fingertips.

After the team watched Wall-E with Tony, Thor begged for another movie night the next morning. A new world had been opened for the God of Thunder, and he needed to explore it to its fullest. The movie that Tony chose was nothing like Wall-E.

“Although I do say that it isn't quite that scary, I can understand how it would be so for your Midgardians.” Thor nodded, a sagely look in his eyes. “It is because regular Midgardians do not handle the supernatural well, correct?”

Tony shrugged. “For the most part. And jump scares are a thing. Creepy vibes. Horror movies are just the best.”

The team agreed for the most part until, later in the middle of the night, a high-pitched scream and Tony's laughter woke everyone. Steve couldn't look at anyone the next day without blushing and running from the room when they mentioned a woman in black was going to catch him.

~*~*~*~

“Yet Midgard does not have talking animals.”

“Right. Remember that these types of movies are for a younger demographic.”

“These are made for children? And yet Scar murdered his own brother. How does that not terrify the young ones?”

Clint snorted. “Oh, it does, buddy. I think most Disney kids have nightmares about the stampede the most.”

“Not if they go back a few more years.” Natasha glanced at Clint, eyebrow raised. “Ever heard of The Black Cauldron?” She smirked at his confused look. “Watch it some time. Then you'll know how terrifying Disney can be.”

“So this Disney,” Thor muttered, “is a god amongst Midgardians. He has created hundreds of these movies and is a household name.”

“Yeah, so what?”

Thor grinned. “What wonders his mind must hold to create such masterpieces.”

Laughter exploded from Tony's corner of the room. He looked up from his tablet at Thor attempting to recompose himself. “I'm not sure I count a talking mouse as a masterpiece.”

“All the kids in my neighborhood flocked to the theater whenever they showed Mickey Mouse.” Steve stood from his couch and stretched. “He was one of the only kid-friendly shows around that time.”

“Wait, you know who Mickey Mouse is? I'm shocked,” Tony gasped, placing his hand over his heart.

“Shut up, Stark. I grew up with Mickey Mouse shorts.”

“Did you guys hear that? He said shut up to me.”

“I'm going to do more than say it if you don't shut it,” Clint warned, his head falling back to rest against Natasha's knees from where he sat on the floor. She touched his hair once before crossing her arms.

“Yes, let us continue in silence. I wish to know whether Simba retakes his throne.” The gravity in Thor's tone sent Tony into another titter of laughter.

An annoyed grunt came from the sleeping Bruce next to Natasha, his eyes twitching open long enough for them to see green coloring his irises.

The Avengers watched the rest of The Lion King in silence until Bruce woke just in time to see Scar fall to the hyenas. He scoffed when the hyenas attacked, muttering something about lone lions and scavengers before slipping back into a doze.

~*~*~*~

Movie night shifted around during the week until Thor decided on every Wednesday. By the middle of a busy week, the Avengers needed downtime and movies turned out to be the best way to de-stress as a team. Steve and Thor had the best reactions to every movie. Tony, as much as he tried to hide it, loved watching the Disney and Pixar movies he missed out on in his childhood.

The normality changed when Tony shared his bright idea.

“We could go to the movies on Friday night. There's this one I want to see, but it's so not cool going to the theater alone.”

Steve perked up. “A theatre?”

Tony waved his hand, grinning. “Probably not the one you're thinking about, Capsicle. We've come a ways while you hibernated.” He made a mental note to take Steve to a play of some sort after the hurt puppy look he received. “Anyways, The Hobbit is coming out Friday and I want to see it. So I say we move our movie to then and go out for it.”

“Yeah, just one problem. That's the opening day. It's going to be packed and sold out.” Clint didn't look away from his examination of his arrows. After yesterday's battle, they all took inventory of their weapons and tools at some point—acid did horrible things to the weapon's finish.

“Uh, hello?” Tony motioned to himself. “Tony Stark? Billionaire? No problem.”

“So you're going to take the whole theater away from the people who've been waiting to see it?” Bruce smiled, more teasing than upset.

“No, no, not at all. I'm just going to reserve the two backs rows for us. I think that's fair. Don't you think that's fair?” Tony glanced at an amused Natasha. “I think that's fair of me. Those people will get their movie and to be in the same room as us. Maybe we can even do autographs afterward.”

~*~*~*~

Tabloids and news stations loved the Avengers' first outing as a team. Over Saturday's breakfast of Bruce's hastily made scrambled eggs, Clint's almost-burnt bacon, and Tony's gourmet toast, the Avengers read and listened to the fallout of their excursion.

“This is rich, Stark. These guys're saying you're just throwing your money around again.” Clint threw the magazine behind him, disgust apparent.

“Yeah, those guys really don't like me. I paid their editor a few years ago for a favor.”

“Favor?” Steve questioned, looking over the top of his newspaper.

“I had complaints about some guy's invention, he wanted nothing to do with me, so I rented out thirty pages of that magazine to tell him.”

“Kind of overkill, Stark.” Clint grinned nonetheless.

“The casters on the TV are covering our exploits last night, my friends,” Thor shouted from the living room.

“I guess it was too much to hope that no one recorded us,” Bruce muttered.

“The person that caught my attempt to battle the Defiler is truly talented. They did not even flinch when I held Mjolnir above their head.”

Steve rested his head in his hands, a sigh passing his lips. Natasha hid an almost-smile in her coffee as Clint cracked up. Tony just groaned.

“Yeah, too bad those videos aren't going to pay for damages to the theater.”

“At least we all managed to watch the movie to the credits before Thor blew his top,” Bruce said, giving Tony a mild smile.

“I'm never taking you guys as my dates to the movies. Nope. Never again. JARVIS, record that and print it out for future reference.”


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has doubts while cooking for the team.

Natasha continued reasoning with herself, as she had done for the past two hours, that she didn't want another lack-luster meal and so had found her way into the kitchen at four in the afternoon. Still distrustful, she had asked JARVIS every Avenger's whereabouts. The clipped answer reassured her that she wasn't the only one still acclimatizing to their growing relationship.

And yet JARVIS offered tidbits of advice—where the spices were kept and what could be substituted for a missing ingredient to name a couple. Natasha's shoulders had remained tense throughout the awkward dance between the two of them.

“Captain Rogers is headed to this floor. Should I suggest a different course of action for him?”

Surprise rarely registered on Natasha's meter nowadays. The Chitauri Invasion warranted such a reaction, but to hear Stark's electronic butler offer to keep her privacy shouldn't have reached that high.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Of course, Miss Romanov.” The smugness in his voice could only come from being around Stark for so long.

Grating cheese, while never Natasha's favorite part of preparing a meal, allowed her to slip into a lethargic state of mind—one she desperately needed. Team-building wasn't her thing. SHIELD agents cowered from her whenever Fury called mandatory team exercises. Eyes followed her every movement when she visited HQ. People didn't trust her enough to want her on their team.

Why was she here? Stark welcomed her, not with open arms, but with grudging respect and maybe a hint of his own need. Speaking of, people didn't need her. She was a slow poison, eating her fill and moving on without remorse just like her namesake. None of the Avengers deserved to be poisoned more than they were by their own lives.

“I believe you have enough cheese unless you are wishing to make double portions for Thor?”

Cursing softly, Natasha dropped the grater next to the almost over-flowing bowl of cheese. Usually only thoughts of Clint could distract her that much.

“You're positive they'll all eat this?” Natasha hated doubting herself. She shouldn't care about their opinions of her. Years of training screamed at her—weak drivel needed to be stamped from her heart—but she was a professional when it came to ignoring her base instincts.

“Looking through records of allergies and past consumption, I can say with a 95% certainty everyone will eat tonight's meal.”

“If they trust me not to put poison in their food.”

Since when did Natasha allow her emotions to become volatile? She blamed Stark again for a moment, but that was unfair. The broken man that returned to them after the Mandarin destroyed his life showed how vulnerable their Iron Man felt beneath his rough exterior.

“I would suggest you attempt to finish cooking within an hour. Doctor Banner follows a strict schedule when it comes to bodily functions.” JARVIS broke her musings once again.

Natasha poured the cheese onto the crust already generously coated with tomato sauce—she made a mental note to ask that a fresh stock of vegetables and fruits be kept in the kitchen. 

Shaking her head, she scowled and pinched herself. No, she did not get the luxury of requests like that. The only reason Stark let her into his Tower was to keep an eye on her. He would never be able to trust her. Not after Natalie. She'd be shocked if he even touched the meal she was preparing even if JARVIS vouched for her.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Natasha slipped the two pans into the oven and started clean-up once she shut the oven door.

As a child in the Red Room, the girls received the necessary vitamins, nutrients, and protein for aspiring assassins. Gourmet cooking, considered a frivolity, could earn a girl severe punishments if she was found. Natasha, especially near the end of her schooling, found it a thrill to sneak into the kitchen during free time or just before bed. The leaders of the Red Room knew she did—they knew everything that happened within their walls—but they watched and waited for her to make a mistake before punishing her.

She never did, and they never punished her aside from extra exercises to work off the extra pounds from her cooking. Even after she graduated, she continued to cook, and, on a tougher mission, turned the only good thing to come out of the Red Room into another weapon in her arsenal.

Dirty dishware and silverware clinked together and scraped against the metal sink while she washed them, setting Natasha's teeth on edge. The dishwasher would be easier, quicker, but nowhere near as thorough as her meticulous fingers.

“I doubt I have ever seen dishes in this kitchen so clean after they have been used.”

“Is that a problem or a compliment?” Natasha questioned JARVIS, keeping her eyes downcast out of force of habit. None of them needed to look around for a physical body, but after seven months, they still caught themselves doing just that. Tony continually teased them about it.

“A statement that could possibly turn into a compliment. I shall have to monitor dinner tonight before I do so.”

Natasha bit her lip. “You really don't like me.”

“I do not trust you around Mister Stark yet.”

“Fair enough,” she whispered, refusing to admit how her heart plummeted.

“However, I hold no ill will for your hacking into my mainframe and you caused no lasting physical harm to Mister Stark. While difficult, emotional harm is manageable when it comes to Mister Stark as long as the mistake is not repeated.”

“A warning that I'm sure we've all received. I understand, JARVIS.” Natasha set the clean dishes out to dry, wiped her hands, and collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table to wait on the timer.

“Has Stark really opened up that much?” She hadn't meant to ask the question out loud—another by-product she blamed on being around the Avengers. JARVIS remained quiet. “He seems just the same as when I worked for him as Natalie.” And if that wasn't a bald-faced lie. The differences were miniscule but astounding.

“You know as well as I do that that is untrue.”

“I deserve the suspicion.” Anger flooded Natasha's veins, a strange and long-forgotten feeling. “I deserve it and I deserve a knife in the back. But that doesn't help when I see Banner slipping into the lab or Rogers asking for advice. Or even Clint joking like there's no tomorrow.”

“You wish to be included?” JARVIS expertly conveyed surprise.

“No, I don't,” she hissed, deluding herself into thinking JARVIS wouldn't spot the lie.

To Natasha's chagrin and worry, JARVIS didn't say anything for ten minutes. She stewed in her emotions, performing different breathing exercises to get her body back under control. Weakness. The Red Room would have torn her apart if she acted this way then. Depending on others to keep her safe in battle and then wishing, so deep she could almost bury it, that they could accept her outside of battle—only glorified fairy tales worked like that.

“Mister Stark trusts you.” JARVIS's voice had Natasha on her feet, knife drawn, before she realized just how deep she had fallen into her mind. “He allows you to live here with the others, and he has given you your own floor of the Tower. Despite his past experiences, he continues developing improved weapons for your use. And though I advised against it, he has given you select codes to access his lab if there is ever trouble.”

The weight behind JARVIS's explanation landed squarely on Natasha's shoulders, forcing her back into her chair, knife held loosely at her side.

“I must warn you, however, that I will not accept any harm to his person and will remove the attacker from the premises.” And how did Stark even manage to incorporate tone and emotions into his AI?

“Fairer terms than I could have hoped for,” Natasha murmured.

Silence reigned in the kitchen until the timer buzzed ten minutes later. Natasha pulled the pans out, setting them on the stove so that she could dole out exact proportions on each of her teammate's plates. The boys began congregating not even seven minutes later.

Clint appeared first to Natasha's relief. He glanced between her and the set table before grinning and promptly digging in with an orgasmic groan.

“What have I told you kids about doing the naughty where we eat?”

“Considering you're never out of your lab, old man, it doesn't even matter.” Clint spoke through a full mouth.

Tony had his mouth open, a witty retort prepared, when he entered the kitchen and froze at the spectacle. Natasha inhaled slowly, calming her nerves because she was the Black Widow—nerves didn't exist for her. Should she try for a smile? Would it look more like a grimace and scare him away? She didn't want that.

“It's better hot.” That wasn't much of a step-up either.

“Wait, back up. Hold the phone. Call Good Morning America. The Black Widow can cook?” Tony worked through his own question. “It's not poisoned if the bird-brain is eating it. Unless he's just immune now. Are we going to build up an immunity to poisons?”

Clint snorted and Natasha smirked despite her nervousness. “While a good idea for a future day, I can assure you there is no poison in the food. Ask JARVIS if you don't believe me.”

“Is that why you were so addle-brained, buddy? You were helping our spymaster turn into a housewife?”

A dangerous edge appeared in Natasha's eyes that successfully cowed Tony.

“I helped her with proportions and substitutions while monitoring the ingredients. I can assure you that you will not die by her food. You will, however, die by other means should you continue teasing her.” JARVIS could make jokes. About Natasha. She didn't want to let her heart swell like it did.

“If J says it's safe, then I'm obliged to taste test anything made in my kitchen.” Tony plopped down beside Clint. “You're sure that, just because there's no poison ingredient that the cooking won't kill me?”

“Positive, sir.”

Tony poked, prodded, and sniffed his food, eyeing it with suspicion before taking a bite. Then he proceeded to melt, his whole body losing tension and a look of bliss appearing on his face.

“Who knew a super-spy had cooking in her reservoir of sexy talents?”

“You count cooking as sexy?” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Considering I can't cook? Yes. Now shut up, I'm eating heaven.”

“That sounds quite unhealthy, Anthony. I would not suggest such a thing.” Thor took the development of Natasha cooking dinner in stride, grinning brightly when he entered the room and saw the setup.

“Tony's had plenty of time in heaven, I'm sure he can handle it.” Bruce peeked around Thor, blinking at the food. “What's the occasion?”

“Occasion for what?” Steve ducked around both men in the doorway.

Natasha shifted on the balls of her feet, linking her hands behind her back to keep them from shaking. “No offense, guys, but your cooking leaves a lot to the imagination. And I figured pizza is a staple food. I hope you don't mind.”

“If you guys don't eat, I will eat all of it,” Tony piped in.

“Like hell you will. We'll fight over that, Stark.” Clint pointed his piece of pizza at Tony.

“Then it is a good thing we are hungry,” Thor responded, pulling out a chair and sitting. The wood groaned beneath his weight.

Bruce and Steve followed, leaving an open chair for Natasha between Clint and Thor. She sunk into it, expelling a shaky breath. They were all eating—they trusted her to make them food and not poison it or try to kill them. Hiding a smile by coughing, she joined in.

“But you know Nat can actually kill with food, right?”

Natasha scowled and stomped on Clint's foot, but the resulting laughter from his whine knocked it from her lips. The team could laugh at jokes like that and continue eating. Though she didn't show it, Natasha started letting the other Avengers into her heart during that dinner, positive that she wouldn't regret it as much as if she didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost every story I've read that has mentioned an Avenger cooking usually has Clint as the cook. I wanted someone else in that role and chose Natasha. You're most vulnerable eating, so it's a good trust exercise for them to eat her food.


	8. Home-made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve worries over his first Christmas out of the ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) This is part A of what I want to do with Steve this time. I would have made it a full chapter, but I wanted to update so I split it up. Part B will be next.
> 
> 2.) I'm going to move my updates to once a week. There should be a chapter every Wednesday. I'm starting back to work after an educational leave--I hate my job and it sucks the life out of me, so I don't believe I can keep up with my original update schedule. That doesn't mean that I won't update as I get the chapters written, just that my readers can always expect something on Wednesday.
> 
> 3.) A few people are asking if I'll include the Twins, and yes, I'm definitely going to. Pietro is now one of my favorite characters (only after Tony) and I can't wait to include him and Wanda. :) However, it will be awhile before they're mentioned simply because the story starts in the months following the first Avengers movie.

Steve believed that even villains couldn't be heartless every day of the year. He was proven correct when no call to assemble came from Fury on Christmas Eve or Day.

Christmases for Steve had always been slim—growing up during the Great Depression with an ailing mother and a host of medical problems meant a sore lack of money. Every gift that Steve remembered was home-made by his mother or, in Bucky's case, bought after a year's worth of saving and scrounging.

After eight months around the Avengers, Steve didn't know what to expect or if he should actually expect anything. Just assuming they celebrated Christmas made him an ass, but if he didn't get them presents, and they did celebrate, then he'd still be an ass. So the night before Christmas Eve, when it felt like no one was wanting to celebrate the following night, Steve sequestered himself in his room and created the only presents he could offer his team.

Christmas Eve passed like any other normal relaxing day for the Avengers.

Chaos woke Steve on Christmas morning in the form of Clint falling out of his ceiling and right on top of his bed.

“Rise and shine, Cap.” The joy lighting Clint's eyes curbed Steve's choice words for the archer.

“What time is it?” Steve asked, mentally congratulating himself for his steady tone despite the rude awakening.

“Time for you to get your ass to the living room. We've been waiting on you for fifteen minutes.” Clint rolled off Steve and the bed, grinning at the soldier who followed much less gracefully.

“No one told me we had a team meeting,” Steve grumbled, blinking at Clint's surprised look. “What?”

“Don't tell me you didn't celebrate Christmas back in the 40s.”

A weight Steve didn't even know was on his chest lifted at the words. “I did, yes. I just didn't know if any of you celebrated. Or if time had changed Christmas that much.”

The commercialization of Christmas surrounded Steve as soon as Thanksgiving passed—polar bears, talking candy, pop culture holiday music, and every other bit of the craze hit him wrong. He feared that the way society looked at Christmas now would mar the beautiful, if scant, Christmases he remembered.

“Nah, I'm sure it's not all that different.” Clint's heart-felt reassurance persuaded Steve to give his first Christmas out of the ice a chance.

“Alright, alright. I'll meet you out there.”

Steve waited for Clint to leave before moving to his dresser, slipping the presents for his team out of his top dresser drawer. He glanced over them, worry blossoming that his teammates would dislike the presents or grow furious that he hadn't done more. Running a hand through his bed-hair, Steve lifted his chin, tucked the presents beneath his arm, and joined the others in the living room.

A ten-foot tall, completely decorated, tree had appeared overnight. Steve stopped in the doorway, his wide eyes taking in the decorations that weren't around yesterday. Without a legitimate fireplace, Tony had hung the stockings wherever possible—on the TV and on the backs of chairs and couches. The Avengers' names were written in fine calligraphy on the graciously filled stockings and on the few name tags Steve could see on the heap of presents beneath the tree.

“You just going to stand there all morning, Capsicle, or are we going to actually get to Christmas?” Tony's smirk, while as bright as the multi-colored lights on the tree, held a hint of hesitance. “Unless you don't want to spend it with us? Have a little fling on the side we don't know about?”

Steve shook his head, structuring his thoughts. “No, no, that's not it. I just. . . wasn't expecting all this,” he said, motioning around the room. 

Small wreaths were on every door and small figurines of Santa Claus and angels sat on a few of the free surface tops.

“C'mon, Rogers. Sit down and let Stark have his moment.” Natasha crossed her arms where she sat leaning against the side of the chair Clint had claimed. Bruce sat cross-legged next to the tree—his eyes portrayed the same wonder Steve felt. Thor bounced around the room, looking at everything and spouting comment after compliment.

Exhaling a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Steve sat next to Bruce, slipping his own presents behind his back. Tony's tense shoulders relaxed under their Captain's welcoming smile. Nodding and muttering to himself, the genius rummaged through the present pile.

“I don't know if you guys have anything for anyone, but we can do them next.” Tony grinned, handing a box to Bruce and another to Steve before moving on to the others in the room. “I am the host after all. First crack at the wow factor is my right.”

The package in Steve's hands didn't feel too heavy. Knowing Tony, anything could be nestled inside. He watched the others, waiting for some type of signal. Clint, ever the impatient one, broke first.

“Well, go on. Bird-brain's already broken the sacred Christmas rule of waiting.” Tony was nowhere near as annoyed as he pretended.

Laughter filled the living room and a warm feeling settled over the environment. Despite each person's prior doubts about celebrating, everyone had presents for each other.

By the time everyone, except Steve, had handed out their gifts, Steve was surrounded by a generous pile of gifts from each of the Avengers. His heart beat hard against his ribs, nervousness keeping him mute. After everything the others bought for him, he couldn't imagine they'd appreciate his sore attempt at gift-giving. He lowered his head, his brow scrunching.

“That's a dreary look for being surrounded by everything you could have asked for.”

Steve jumped at Tony's voice in his ear, lifting his head. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Just share with the class and we'll be golden.” Tony plops down next to him, invading Steve's personal space to the point that their knees touch. The super soldier uses that as an anchor.

“I'm not sure if you'll like mine.”

That was not what any of them expected by the range of astonishment and confusion. Steve blushed, ducking his head again and fiddling with the wrapping paper next to his foot.

“Let us be the judge of that.” Natasha had only just started letting the softness into her tone around the Avengers. That, alongside Bruce's reassuring squeeze on his shoulder, settled Steve's buzzing mind.

Pulling the manilla envelopes from out behind him, Steve looked at the top one with Thor's name written across it. He inhaled, set his jaw as he stood, and distributed the gifts. Taking his spot between Bruce and Tony, he realized none of his team had even peeked. Worry lanced through his heart, but Tony just grinned and ripped into his happily enough.

“Not even worth some wrapping paper? Must have been last minute. And manilla? I'd think you were giving us legal paper out of the office.” Tony's jokes died when he set eyes on the paper he pulled out.

Steve watched the facial expressions of each of his teammates as they pulled out the drawings he slaved over for the past two days. While better than most artists, he wasn't a Van Gogh or Da Vinci, but he put his heart into his work. He hoped they noticed and accepted what little he could do for them.

Before Steve knew what happened, a pair of arms had slipped around his neck. He flinched, his eyes widening as Tony buried his face against Steve's shoulder. The unexpected action brought the soldier's hand to Tony's shoulder, awkwardly patting the older man.

“I'm sorry if I've upset you somehow,” Steve murmured, but Tony shook his head. The genius's shoulders heaved in a deep breath.

“I'm not used to people noticing the details,” came the muffled reply, and no, Tony Stark was not crying and he'd deny it to his dying breath.

Tony's picture sat in his lap—Steve recreated the intricate details of Tony's lab, but Tony acted as the main focus himself. He drew his friends the way he viewed them.

The little smile-smirk that Tony wore when something followed his plans. Natasha opening herself to them the first time she cooked. Bruce just continuing to live with them despite the threat of being hunted to the Tower. Clint happily sequestered in any one of his nests. Thor's excitement at new movies and TV shows. Every single one of those instances were beautiful in Steve's eyes. He hoped he captured them—did them enough credit.

By the looks on everyone's faces, Steve believed he had done more than capture their special moments.

“No fair showing up the host of the party.” Tony pulled back, coughing and discreetly wiping at his eyes.

Steve smiled softly. “Sorry. I didn't realize old-fashioned gifts were better than technology.”

The Avengers continued the rest of their Christmas in a state of warm enthusiasm. Christmas breakfast had never tasted so wonderful and even the movies they watched for the rest of the day felt special. Steve, much to his surprise, noticed his teammates glancing at his drawings throughout the day. Every time they did, they would smile to themselves or at him, and his heart would skip every single time.

Steve hoped to capture those smiles one day.


	9. Chilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blizzard brings about more than just snow for Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter immediately follows the previous by a couple of days in the timeline.
> 
> So I'm doing a rough outline of the story, just to see how long and where it needs to go later on. This is going to be a story for the long haul, but I look forward to that. It's something of a personal challenge now.
> 
> Also, one week deadlines are actually pretty helpful.

The chill in Steve's room woke him in the middle of the night. Groggy and confused, he stared at his ceiling, willing the answer into existence. When no answer was forthcoming, he sat up and took in his surroundings.

Steve requested that JARVIS keep his room a level 70 degrees Fahrenheit—while leaning more toward the uncomfortably warm side, Steve better tolerated the few and far between cold chills.

“JARVIS, what's the temperature in my room?” He hated disturbing the AI in the middle of the night, believing he needed his sleep just as much as any human.

“It is 59 degrees Fahrenheit and dropping. Shall I attempt to turn up the temperature?”

“Yes. Try 75.” Steve shuddered, running his hands along his goosebump-covered arms. “It's usually not this cold.”

“That is true, Captain Rogers. However, our area is under a blizzard warning as of two hours ago. Most places have begun to lose electricity, and I am doing my best not to steal from nearby residences.”

A blizzard warning. Blizzard. Ice and snow and wind and unbearable cold. Steve lunged from his bed to the window, ripping apart his curtains and staring outside. The streets and buildings, bare five hours ago, now had a fine carpet of snow—and the flakes continued flying before Steve's eyes. He stumbled away from the window, the cold radiating from the glass eating into his nose and cheeks.

“Captain Rogers, are you alright? I can call one of the others if necessary.”

“No, don't bother them.” Steve's voice wavered. Did he need them enough to wake them so late?

“Are you positive? I am aware that this is the first snowfall you have experienced since you woke.” JARVIS conveyed worry well. At times, Steve wondered if the AI truly felt human emotions. Chalking it up to Tony's intelligence made the thought simpler to manage.

Steve's lips thinned, but he squared his shoulders. He would not let his fears control him. “I'm positive,” he replied, moving about his room and gathering a few extra layers of clothes. All the while, visions of snow-capped mountains and the sound of the howling wind lingered along the edges of his mind.

Try as hard as he could, Steve couldn't shut the past away. Mentally boxing it up helped for days at a time, but there were always reminders and triggers. Tony's flirting and Clint's anal care for his weapons reminded him of the Howling Commandos. Natasha reminded him of Peggy in the way they both held themselves separate, refusing to depend on anyone else. Bruce's brilliance rivaled, and possibly outshone, that of Erskine's. Thor's loyalty and camaraderie was what reminded Steve of Bucky.

The chill creeped through the loose openings in his shirt sleeves and around his neck, caressing the sweat-soaked skin beneath. Blood rushed through his ears yet he still felt faint. His vision blurred—he simply wiped the tears away. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he resorted to staring at the news clippings taped onto the opposite wall.

Ranging from grainy pictures captured in the 40s to staged pictures just months ago, Steve had mapped his waking life to the best of his ability. The first appearance of Captain America started the chain, while a group photo of the Avengers taken after the Chitauri Invasion ended the lineup. The events that weren't covered by the news, he had drawn himself. Painstaking hours went into the memories surrounding Bucky's fall. Frigid blues colored his own tumble and hibernation in the ice. Shades of gray told of Peggy's aging without Steve or Howard.

“Captain, I am raising the temperature another five degrees.” JARVIS broke into Steve's fugue, hurtling him back to the present—the life without his friends and comrades and stability and normalcy.

“That's fine.”

“I repeat my earlier request to alert one of the others. Your blood pressure is steadily increasing while your heart rate and body temperature are dropping.”

“It's fine, JARVIS. I've lived through worse.” A decades old ache settled in Steve's bones, causing him to withdraw into himself. “Let them sleep or keep doing whatever they're doing.”

Yes, Steve had weathered worse and not even known of his own resilience. Without the serum, of course, none of that would have been possible. Captain America survived, continued to survive, but the kid from Brooklyn faded into the background with his wheezing and his weakness.

Without the serum, he would have died an early death—sometimes he still wondered if that wasn't preferable.

A cloud of steam next interrupted his thoughts. Despite the increase in room temperature, Steve still noticed his breath as if it were freezing. A bolt of dread struck him. His world, already fragile after being rebuilt, crumbled again.

Steve never made it out of the ice. Subconsciously he was aware of his surroundings and his circumstances, but his physical body could not function. Instead, his mind began supplying an imaginary world—and he cut off that panic.

Impossibilities were normal for him, but even knowing Howard, he couldn't create someone like Tony Stark.

The floor shifted beneath Steve's weight as he lurched to his feet, ripping his eyes from the pictures and stumbling to his dresser to pull out another two shirts. He pulled them over his head while he walked out of his room, intent on anywhere that didn't hold the frozen shards of his regrets.

Enough SHIELD therapists had warned Steve about possible psychological problems since he woke. After dealing with enough therapists during the War, though, he could manipulate his doctors into believing him when he gave them reassurances. He wasn't beneath doing such things to strangers or untrustworthy people, but every time he lied to his teammates, guilt clawed at his already ravaged chest. Because of that, he hoped he wouldn't run into any of the others as he worked his way through the Tower.

Liquid ice crawled through his veins, slowing his steps and making him sluggish. Frost coated and filled his lungs, restricting his breathing to the point that he collapsed, gasping, against the hallway wall. Steve's mind never shut off—if it did, he wouldn't feel like dying every time he remembered—so despite his conscious efforts to persuade his subconscious of his safety, his body wouldn't respond.

“Steve?”

And of course Bruce found Steve in that state. The soldier kept his gaze lowered, attempting to regulate his breathing. The act worked on doctors, but Bruce didn't count as a regular doctor.

“Steve, can you tell me what's wrong?” Bruce knelt beside the Captain, a warm hand settling on his shoulder. Steve used the warmth as a focal point.

“Cold,” he murmured through chattering teeth.

The doctor pressed the back of his hand to Steve's forehead. He frowned, shaking his head. “You're burning up.”

“Doctor Banner, if I may.” Bruce flinched at JARVIS's input, but nodded for him to continue. “Captain Rogers began exhibiting worrying behavior when I informed him of our area's blizzard warning.”

Bruce inhaled sharply, his hand once again settling on Steve's shoulder. “Shit,” he hissed. “None of us thought this through. We should have known.” His voice tapered off, but Steve noticed a firm set in his jaw. “I'm sorry, Steve. We'd. . . planned for just such a thing, but with Christmas yesterday—”

“It's alright. I'm fine.” The words tasted stale in Steve's mouth, chewed and spit out too many times to count.

“You can fool the other doctors, but you cannot fool me. I'd appreciate it if you'd stop trying and just tell me when something's wrong.” Bruce gave him a half-smile. “It makes my job easier.”

A shudder rippled through Steve's shoulders, his arms encircling his torso and his knees drawing up to his chest. “You're not a therapist.”

“No, but I like to think I've been through some tough times.” Bruce's eyes twitched, taking in Steve's reactions. Whatever conclusion he came to had Bruce taking a seat next to the other man.

Steve waited, expecting empty promises or tired reassurances, but Bruce remained quiet. Every few minutes, the doctor would reach over and check Steve's pulse or press his hand back to his head, but no words passed between them. Bruce's hand lingered, keeping contact longer and longer when Steve didn't complain, until his fingers indefinitely remained on Steve's wrist.

“Psychological problems aren't easy to treat.” Bruce's soft tone gently pulled Steve back into the moment. “They take years to scar, and most never completely heal. But I can suggest the one thing that I've seen that worked.”

The pause stretched long enough to force Steve into looking at Bruce.

“As cheesy as it may sound, surrounding yourself with people you trust and love can help the healing process. That hasn't changed in the past seventy years.” Bruce lightly tapped his fingers against Steve's wrist. “And despite our. . . quirks, the Avengers can become that safety net for you.”

And Steve wanted that so badly, but at the same time, betrayal bit deep into his heart whenever he thought of replacing his old friends.

“Whatever you just thought, strike it out of your mind.” Bruce smiled at Steve's surprised look. “It doesn't take a genius of Tony's caliber to notice emotions.”

“Whenever I try, they look so sad.” Steve's whispered confession barely reached Bruce.

“They're only ghosts, Steve. Ghosts can be exorcised with enough time and perseverance. Or at least managed, if you wish to keep them.”

Bruce's words echoed into the hallway's stillness, circling Steve's mind and gradually driving said ghosts back to the past. Heat returned to his cheeks. With the rise in temperature, he tore off three layers of clothes, throwing them to the side. He even managed a small smile at Bruce's pleased look.

Steve despised winter and anything to do with the cold. Old regrets lingered in dark recesses, waiting for just such moments to spring out. A new life, filled to brimming with positive vibes, with new friends couldn't replace the old, but it could at least dull the pain.


	10. Reports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Director Fury notices the small things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this isn't up to par with the rest of the chapters, I apologize. I'm in the beginning stages of strep throat, so this chapter almost didn't make it out today...

Fury ignored the reports until the day he saw the Avengers with his own eye. Since moving in with Tony, they had had little to do with SHIELD aside from calls and emails. A mission that resulted in the near total destruction of a town in Maine had Fury demanding a face-to-face meeting.

The Avengers filed into Fury's office at SHIELD headquarters in the late afternoon—he let them head back to the Tower to clean off the battle grime—looking none the worse for wear save for healthy bruising. Natasha and Clint acknowledged his gaze, Clint by giving a cheeky grin and Natasha by nodding. Steve kept his chin high, his own eyes never wavering beneath Fury's dissection. Bruce, on the other hand, barely looked at him. Tony stumbled into Thor's back, muttering beneath his breath as his fingers flew over a personal tablet.

“I don't have all night, and I'm sure none of you want to be here longer than necessary.” Fury's thin patience couldn't handle being cooped up in the same room too long with his superhero team.

Steve took the chair directly in front of Fury. Tony caught the right chair beside him, Clint the left, Natasha between him and Thor, and Bruce on the end next to Tony. Fury silently noted the seating arrangements, wondering if any of the team realized what they had done.

“Explain, Captain Rogers.” Fury leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap. The explanation had better be a good one.

“Sir, we did what we could to keep the damage at a minimum. Considering our enemy, one town is more than we hoped for.” The thought darkened Steve's brow, pain filling his eyes. The boy hated losing, whether it was losing a battle, property, or a life. Fury shifted his eye to Clint and Natasha.

“He's correct, sir. The hostiles were engineered with over-enhanced defensive capabilities even if they didn't pack too bad a punch.” Tony chuckled, earning a murderous glare from Natasha before she continued. “Explosives and electricity did little damage. Brute strength was all we had, and it took us time to dismantle the creatures.”

“Seriously, I swear these mad scientists are reading too much into sci-fi mumbo jumbo. They're just as bad as Stark over there.” Clint jerked his thumb at Tony and winced when it pulled the glorious bruise on his upper arm.

“Excuse me?” Tony leaned forward, looking around Steve. Cuts lined his cheeks where the suit was damaged. “If I had engineered what basically amounts to metal armadillo trolls, I would have had the foresight to give them a panic button. Everything needs a panic button. Especially metal armadillo troll babies that want to grow big and strong by eating their creator.” He settled back in his chair. “He definitely needed an abort mission button.”

Bruce, Clint, and Steve shuddered at the memory.

“We promised to not bring that up,” Thor scolded, crossing his arms.

Fury watched and listened to the spectacle, his astonishment growing the longer they interacted. The reports truly seemed legitimate, which meant he had some apologies to send out. There were few things he hated more than apologizing.

“Sir.” Natasha straightened beneath Fury's eye. “If I may, how many casualties were there?”

Each Avenger stiffened, their own versions of sorrow and anger rippling through their bodies. Fury sighed, shaking his head. “You can never leave well enough alone, Romanov.”

“Is it really necessary to know that?” Bruce muttered. His fingers tapped against his chair's arm in what Fury recognized as the tempo of one of the god awful operas the doctor liked.

“No, it's not, and if Nat really wants to find out, she can ask later.” Clint narrowed his eyes, his lips thinning before Natasha could retaliate. Her jaw tightened, but she didn't push the situation.

“Much less than you would think,” Fury supplied, drawing attention away from growing emotions. “As it stands, SHIELD will be spending quite a bit on rebuilding the town, settling insurance claims, property disputes, and doctor bills.” His eye settled on the six heroes in turn. “However, if not for the Avengers, the damage and number of casualties would have been greater. The citizens are shouting your names to the sky, or so say my reports.”

Fury let his statement settle, taking the silence as a chance to study them again. Bruce leaned against the left side of his chair, his arm almost touching Tony's which was slung out to balance his tablet. Without having to lean forward, Fury knew Tony had stretched out his legs, his foot tapping against the closest leg of Steve's chair. Clint kept switching his weight between his arms, first closer to Natasha, then Steve, and back again, acting as if he were checking injuries. Natasha had no qualms—she didn't hide her knee touching Clint's or the back of her hand against Thor's arm. Steve sat in the middle, still resolute as ever, but he hadn't reprimanded his teammates for unprofessionalism.

Damn, but Fury had some apology promotions to give out.

“Agent Hill tells me that the scientist was captured mostly intact. She has him in the holding cell as we speak. If he has any other inventions that might break loose, we'll know before the night is over.” Fury shifted in his seat, eyeing Tony. “Stark, I know you smuggled some bits of the creatures back to the Tower. You and Dr. Banner run tests on them, make sure we know everything about it so we can deal with these things in the future.”

Tony grunted, briefly lifting his gaze before returning his attention to his lap.

“Captain Rogers.” 

Steve straightened, having relaxed in the hopes they were about to be dismissed. “Yes, sir?”

“Don't let the results of this mission affect you. Results don't always turn out like we want.” Fury waited until Steve nodded. “And keep your team from doing anything dramatic. I get enough stacks of reports when Stark blows the block's substation or Barton shoots out the ice cream truck's tires.”

“That was one time, sir, and I really wanted ice cream.”

“You're all dismissed. Let's not have another reunion for awhile, alright?”

Even the way the Avengers filed out of Fury's office confirmed his suspicions. Thor took the lead, nodding to Fury before he left. Natasha followed close behind, Clint on her tail as always. Bruce jumped to his feet at the same time Tony rose, the two leaving together huddled over Tony's tablet. Steve, the last to leave, stood and studied Fury. He arched a brow at the soldier, waiting for Steve to speak.

No words came. Steve turned and followed after his team, shutting the office door behind him. Fury relaxed, his office once again his own, and stared at the stack of papers at the corner of his desk. The SHIELD agents on the field had been filing reports for months stating that the Avengers' teamwork had been growing alongside their relationship, but he hadn't believed them. Few volatile mixtures outmatched the explosive nature of the Avengers Initiative. He had hoped they would work, but he hadn't put everything he owned into that bet.

Now Fury wondered whether he should. He grinned, thinking of the rumors that he knew would spread soon. That was another betting pool he'd gladly enter and win—maybe he'd even share a little of the winnings with the team in question.


	11. Disappearing Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time the Avengers realize Thor is in danger, they can't help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark World events! One step closer to Ultron events (and the Twins). I didn't realize how hard this chapter would be to write, and I don't even know if my explanation is sound enough, but hey, it's the best I could create.
> 
> Also, I'm feeling much better than I did this time last week. I won't say the strep throat is completely gone, but it's gone enough. :)

The Avengers didn't think much of Thor's disappearance—he was prone to disappearing on Asgardian business—until JARVIS pinged a British news channel. Steve called everyone to the living room where they gathered around the main TV.

Alien ships and forces had attacked Greenwich, but Thor's involvement was keeping the city from being utterly destroyed. Natasha's nails dug into her chair when the aliens surrounded Thor, only relaxing when the God fried them to extra crispy.

“We should help.” Clint glanced around at the others. “Right? Or is this one of those god things? Prove his worth and might?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I don't think it's a test. By the time we get out there, he'll have won or be overrun.” The Captain had never been good at clinical thinking where his friends were concerned. “Fury hasn't given the call,” he mused more to himself than the others.

“Screw the one-eyed pirate. Thor's in trouble, and we can help.” Tony paused in his pacing behind Steve and Bruce's couch.

“Tony. We'd just be in the way on this one.” Bruce wilted beneath Tony's disbelieving look, but his eyes remained resolute. “Look.”

Attention returned to the news coverage, where the big baddie had finally appeared and Thor had landed to challenge him. As they watched, Thor lunged at the dark-skinned villain, both of them flying backward and disappearing. 

“Whatever technology or powers the aliens are using is causing fluctuations in the Earth's magnetic core. Numerous portals are probably opening throughout the entire area.” Bruce let his chin fall, his clenched fists and slowly rising shoulders the only hints to his mounting frustration. “We'd do the opposite of help in this situation, especially if those portals lead to other realms.”

“So we just sit back and watch him get his ass kicked?” Silence met Tony's outburst. “And what if he loses? That's going to be our problem either way.”

“Shut up, Stark.” Natasha's cold voice speared through Tony's growing tirade. He opened his mouth to continue arguing, but thought better after noticing the tension in the Widow's body.

Thor and his adversary reappeared on the screen, neither looking the worse for wear except more dirt, before disappearing again.

“There's nothing we can do?” Clint's soft question escaped Natasha's ire, but drove home their helplessness. One of the most powerful superhero teams, grounded and watching a teammate battle for the Earth's survival.

“Not quite the case, Barton.” Fury's face popped into the top left corner of the TV.

“Since when are you allowed to hack my stuff?” Tony glared at the Director.

“Dr. Banner, Stark. Your help might be invaluable to Jane Foster and Erik Selvig. I can connect you to them if you're interested.”

Bruce and Tony only glanced at each other, nodding, and ran out of the room. Fury remained on the TV screen, watching the three remaining Avengers.

“Romanov, keep it together.”

“With all due respect, sir—”

“Don't play that shit with me, Romanov.” Fury leveled his eye at her. “Sitting on the sidelines has never been easy on you. Less so when a teammate is in trouble, but have faith in your friend.”

Natasha bit her lip against a rebuttal, opting to sink into her chair and tapping her nails against the arms. Clint excused himself, muttering something about the archery range. Steve remained in his seat—a statue watching the events unfold on the television screen.

The alien reappeared in Greenwich while Thor didn't. Steve's shoulders hunched around his ears, murder in his eyes. Should Thor fall to this bastard, Steve would do everything in his power to avenge the God. The alien walked forward, a dark red cloud springing from his raised arms, circling him and his ship.

A few moments later, Thor ran back into the fight. Momentary relief plummeted when Thor ran straight into the cloud.

“He knows what he's doing,” Natasha said, her tone meant to be confident. Steve pretended not to notice the hint of desperation.

“As long as he doesn't hesitate, he'll be fine.”

Clint wandered back into the room, collapsing next to Natasha's chair and resting his head against her leg. Her hand found its way to his hair, running through it in a comforting motion.

“Archery not doing it for you, Barton?” Fury still hadn't left the screen.

“I'd rather be using that bastard's jewels as target practice,” Clint muttered.

The bastard in question flew out of the red cloud, speared to his own ship by the device Thor had carried with him. A bright blue flash distorted the image. The screen wavered, the camera attempting to recalibrate and failing. The picture blacked out to Natasha's outrage. Steve shut his eyes, breathing deep.

A newscaster took the place of the black picture, stuttered apologies spouting from her mouth about the lost feed. Ground reporters continued reporting in, however, and she could confirm that the alien had disappeared along with his ship. The whereabouts of Thor were as of yet unknown.

“Thor is the same as any one of you. He has had to fight his own battles long before he met any of you, just as every one of you had your own battles to face alone.” Fury shook his head. “Sometimes that's what it will take to get the job done.” His screen in the corner blinked out, leaving the regular news station.

Bruce and Tony re-entered the room, Tony animatedly speaking into the phone still in his hand.

“No, you give this damn phone to him. I don't care what she just went through. Do you realize we were just sitting her and watching all this? We couldn't do a damn thing. Now hand the phone over.” Tony, when on the war path, proved just as terrifying as Natasha. The grimness around his lips faded after a few seconds. He pulled the phone away, pressed a button, and said, “Alright, now why the hell didn't you call us in?”

“I did not realize the extent of the battle. Had I known, I would have asked for your assistance. I am deeply sorry if I have caused offense.” Thor's tired voice broke over the speaker phone. 

Natasha leapt over her chair and snatched the phone from Tony's hand. “Offense my ass. You had us worried. How could you. . .” In her anger, Natasha reverted back to Russian that only Clint and Thor cold understand.

“Thor, status report. Injuries, casualties, and damage.” Steve placed a gentle hand on Natasha's shoulder, shaking his head when she prepared another tangent.

“There are few casualties I have heard about though the injuries make up for that. The damage is exponential. I believe this whole area will need to be rebuilt.”

“That's all well and good, Thor, but what about you? Are you alright?”

Static crackled while Thor gathered his thoughts. “I am bruised with maybe a fractured rib. Nothing that I cannot handle, Captain. My heart hurts worse than anything physical Malekith inflicted.”

“Why's that? What happened?” Bruce inched closer, as if Thor were right in front of them instead of half a world away.

“My brother perished in an attempt to kill Malekith before he reached Earth. He had. . . I won't say that he had completely changed, but he had tried. And he was still my brother.”

The Avengers shared a look—none of them could forgive Loki for what the mayhem he caused during the Chitauri Invasion, but loss was a feeling they all knew well.

“When you can, return to the Tower, Thor. We'll be here to talk or listen. You'll have whatever you need from us.” Steve cast his voice as sure and comforting while inside his mind, Bucky escaped his grasp again and again. None of his teammates would experience that kind of loss alone if he had a say about it.

“I appreciate it, Captain. I must return to Asgard and speak with my father. Afteward, I will return as soon as possible.”

No one wanted to end the call for fear another attack might happen. Steve finally pressed the button, wishing Thor luck and a quick journey.


	12. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint feels he has a run of bad luck. Natasha does her best to coax him out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is a week late. Life happened (personal things) and it kind of sucked the inspiration out of me. I didn't want to go another week without an update, though, so here's my small attempt. ^^;

“Quit moaning about it, Clint. You can't fix it now.”

“Nat. You're a kick-ass woman. But seriously. Go away and let me glare a hole through this wall.”

Natasha crossed her arms, amusement flickering through her eyes. “You'd shoot it before you got to that point.”

“Nope.” Clint sniffed, closing his eyes. “I refuse to touch another arrow for a week.”

“The big bad arrows will certainly have learned their lessons by then.” The assassin nodded, smirking at the archer's annoyed growl. She slipped further into the room, her bare feet soundless against the carpet. Even her weight once she sat on Clint's bed did little to move him. “Talk.”

Clint opened one eye, watching her through his eyelashes. She had that stubborn look that assured him she wouldn't leave until he spoke. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, his back facing Natasha, hoping she'd get the hint.

She didn't. Instead of leaving, she shifted and spread out beside him, their backs just barely brushing. 

The two remained still, the intimacy chilling and exciting at the same time—they had shared trysts before, after exceptionally dangerous missions when one of them had almost died. The physical reminder that the other was still alive, still breathing, still moving, grounded them more than any debriefings ever could.

Neither Clint nor Natasha dared to venture past the physical into more tempestuous waters, though they swam closer and closer as the months passed.

“I almost got Steve killed.” The words did little to convey just how miserable Clint felt.

“You made a mistake.” Natasha's prompt reply echoed around the quiet room. “A mistake that almost cost our leader his life, yes, but you'll never make that mistake again because of it.”

“Right,” Clint murmured. “But even though that's the worst thing, I thought my week had to get better, you know?”

“It didn't.”

“Nope. I almost burned the kitchen down trying to make pizza, and I cussed out Tony when he teased me about it. Bruce is avoiding me after I almost shot him when he walked in on my raging about my arrows being shit.” Clint burrowed his face into a pillow, wondering if he could smother himself.

“All mistakes, and all horrible. But fixable and you learn from them.” When Clint didn't reply, Natasha pushed her foot back and pressed her shin between Clint's. “I've made my share of mistakes. One of them even killed a teammate before Fury officially made us partners.”

Clint glanced over his shoulder at the back of Natasha's head. “Wait, why haven't I heard about this?”

“Because I asked Coulson and Fury to keep it quiet. I was ashamed.” Her words faded momentarily, but started even stronger after a pause. “I made a bad call, and my teammate died because of it. A bullet right between the eyes, because I failed to realize the enemy had a fourth sniper.” Natasha chuckled coldly. “You know as well as I do that most of our enemies only have three at most. I didn't expect a fourth. I wanted to get the mission done quick, so I pushed ahead.”

Pressing her toes into Clint's skin, Natasha also pushed her back against his. “I make it a point to double, and even triple, check my teammate's welfare now. Even if I want to finish a mission, I do it thoroughly now. I won't add more blood to my hands if I could have prevented it being shed.”

She fell silent, allowing Clint to roll back toward her and slip his arm around her waist.

“At least now I know why you want to kick my ass every time I jump off a building.” 

Natasha chuckled. Clint only resorted to jokes in situations he didn't know how to handle, but the thought meant more to her than any reassurances.

“No, that's just because you need a good kick in the rear every once in awhile.”

Clint's fingers softly dug into Natasha's side. “How would you keep from making that mistake again?”

“Everyone makes their mistakes, Clint. Ours just have higher consequences. Call it wrong when a twenty foot tall gorilla is rampaging, a building with fifty people is destroyed. Or call it wrong when a mad scientist releases a toxin that doesn't have side effects for three days.”

“So what you're getting at is that shit happens.” Clint grinned.

“Basically. And we can't control it anymore than Steve or Stark or Banner can. We just have to live with it.”

Clint and Natasha remained in his room for the day, sleeping when they felt the need, but mostly talking in soft tones, sharing stories and bolstering each other's confidences. Neither mentioned it when Natasha finally turned, resting her head against Clint's chest, nor when Clint pulled her closer, desperate for the resulting comfort.


	13. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce receives a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last week I went to see Imagine Dragons in concert. My first ever concert, and I enjoyed it so much!!!
> 
> As for the chapter, a week late again, and I'm really sorry about that... This is also a pretty angsty one at that. I'm having to set up the future relationship, so certain aspects have to be addressed before then.

Bruce's heart both plummeted and jumped into his throat at the return address on the envelope in his hands. Steve watched, gaze never leaving Bruce's wide eyes, waiting for the first hints of green to show.

“Thank you.” Bruce's voice held steady though he couldn't summon any sort of emotion. He shut his bedroom door before Steve could speak.

The envelope, listed as being sent from Hawaii, smelled of pomegranates and hibiscus. Elegant and familiar cursive rounded the letters in Bruce's name perfectly, intending to convey warmth and acceptance.

Betty Ross's name in the top left corner diminished the effect.

Sinking onto his bed, Bruce continued to hold the envelope, his touch ginger, his mind warning him against opening and reading the enclosed letter. Heedless of the sirens in his head, his fingers worked away at the envelope's flap, pulling out a sheet of folded journal paper.

_Doctor Banner,_

Pain constricted Bruce's heart.

_We haven't been in touch for some time._

For very good reasons, but he'd still hoped. He had clutched to the faint glimmer since he parted from Betty, causing more suffering than healing.

_As such, I didn't realize that my father had held you captive until last month. It took me a few days to decide how to talk to you about it. A letter seemed best._

No interaction whatsoever meant that Betty could sever any ties with finality and never feel bad about Bruce's reactions.

_I'm so sorry for what he put you through, both then and before. I wish I could've done more. I should have. But I can't hate my own father._

Bruce tried to run, but she refused to let him go. She brought him back, despite being unable to say or do anything of worth to and about her father.

_He's upset with me. I haven't spoken to him since he told me about torturing you. I'm not worried—about him or you. The news clips featuring the Hulk and the Avengers are heart-warming, Bruce. I always knew that the Hulk was a good creature._

Idealism poured off Betty's words. The Hulk, while helpful in a fight against aliens or mad super scientists, had yet to show any goodness outside of battle. He didn't know whether Betty truly believed her own hypothesis without tests or if she meant to reassure him.

_Since you're with the Avengers, I doubt my father can reach you anymore. Tony Stark alone could destroy his reputation, but add Captain America and the Norse God of Thunder into the mixture. . . Well, my father loves his life very much, and while it angers him that he knows where you are, he won't try anything with them around you._

She reduced the Avengers to nothing more than a safety net.

_Be careful, though. Stark's reputation puts him and everyone around him at risk. I've heard some pretty heavy talk about kidnapping schemes or company takeovers at my conferences. He may not be the best shield._

Tony was so much more than a shield, more than the weapons manufacturer of old.

_As for me. . . I'm a married woman now. Since December. The thought of you waiting for me is horrible, Bruce. It's kept me up at night, but I needed to find my own happiness. Without you here, I realized I could never find my happiness waiting on a running man to return home. I'm really and truly sorry._

Bruce's hands clenched into fists, crumpling the letter before he let it drop. Staggering to his feet, he stumbled to and out of his bedroom door, barely making it to the Hulk-proofed room down the hall before transforming. The Hulk's enraged cries were heard throughout the Tower. Interspersed between the roars, heart-wrenching howls echoed even down to the streets.

_I do hope you find your own happiness sometime in the future, Bruce. We all deserve it—even someone who thinks they're one of the worst monsters in the world. And you're not a monster. You never have been, and I believe that you never will be._

_You won't hear from me again, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't seek me out, either. It's difficult enough with my new husband disliking the military, and by extension my father. If my ex-boyfriend, who happens to be the Hulk, shows up out of the blue, it could cause problems._

_~~We had some wonderful times~~ _

_~~I really did love~~ _

_~~I'm sorry~~_

_Good luck, Bruce._

_Betty_

Once the noises of destruction stopped, the Avengers crept out of their own nooks and crannies and joined Bruce. He sat curled up in a corner of the room, knees drawn to his chest, silent tears drenching his arms and thighs.

No one broke the silence—instead they took positions around the room, waiting for Bruce to initiate any interaction. After just five minutes, Steve shook his head, already knowing the cause of the meltdown, and strode over to Bruce. Kneeling beside the doctor, Steve rested a warm hand on his shoulder.

“We're here, Bruce.”

Bruce, though he appreciated the sentiment, knew they could do little to help his pain.


	14. Special Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria Hill stops by Avengers Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I have no excuse for a three-month hiatus, but I do think it helped me in the long run with this story. After taking that long away from it, I came back and reread what I wrote yesterday and I just kept asking, "Self, WHY did you stop writing?!"
> 
> Readers might notice that I finally know how many chapters are in this story. There will be 56 chapters total (I actually went back and reworked the chapters). Civil War will not be included in this story, because A) I hope to have this finished before the movie is released and B) I don't know enough about the comic to do anything with it.
> 
> There will also be mature-rated chapters in the future. Each of those will get their own special warning in the author's note at the beginning of the chapter.

“Shall I ask the Avengers to gather in the living area, Agent Hill?”

Maria Hill shook her head, shifted the stack of papers and two parcels into a better position in her arms, and glanced at the elevator’s buttons. The doors slid shut and the elevator started of its own accord before she could attempt to juggle her deliveries.

“Thank you, JARVIS, both for your offer and your help, but I’m sure I can find them without drawing them away from their work.” Maria lifted her eyes to the ceiling as she spoke. “I take it that Thor has yet to return?”

“Correct. Place whatever you have for him on his bed and he will be sure to find it upon his return.”

Maria smirked. “Don’t trust the others to deliver on time?”

“It is better that important documents and items not get lost in the daily bustle,” JARVIS replied as the elevator doors slipped open without a noise. “I shall tell Mister Stark that you will be waiting for him in the living area, Agent, as he is working in his lab at the moment. Captain Rogers and Agent Barton are both in the gym.”

“What about Dr. Banner and Romanov?” Maria questioned, walking through the living area into a nearby hallway that led to a second elevator.

“Dr. Banner has requested that he not be disturbed. Any delivery for him may be given to Captain Rogers.”

“And as for me, you can go ahead and hand me whatever’s mine.” Natasha’s voice startled Maria into whirling around to face the smug assassin. “Once your heart rate settles of course.”

“Romanov, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that? You’re lucky that you haven’t gotten a bullet in the head yet.” Maria grumbled a few choice words beneath her breath about smug daredevil redheads, handing one of the parcels to Natasha before skimming through the pages beneath the remaining box. 

“Standard paperwork for your covert missions, an accident report concerning Barton’s improper use of raspberry jelly and explosive arrows at HQ, another accident report about Stark’s suit malfunction in the Avenger’s last mission, and the catalogue that you requested.” A mental checklist ticked off each item in Maria’s mind as she spoke and handed over the stack of paper. “As for that,” she nodded to the parcel in Natasha’s other hand, “I’m not sure what it is, but Director Fury was anxious to get it to you.”

Natasha lifted the parcel, eyeing it in curiosity, and shrugged. “Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll figure out that I have it. Thanks for delivering it.” The assassin’s eyes narrowed, a cold glint infiltrating the edges of her gaze. “I hope for your sake that Fury didn’t send you here to spy on us.”

Maria spluttered, taken aback by the accusation. “Of course not,” she snapped, her anger bristling. “That and this other package needed to be delivered as soon as possible.”

“Mmm.” Natasha held Maria with her eyes for another twenty uncomfortable seconds until she nodded. “Fine. But JARVIS will tell us if that’s really the case when you leave. If you’re lying,” Natasha leaned forward, face set like stone, “then you’ll have to answer to me. Have a good day, Agent.” She pulled away, smiled, and shut the door, silencing Maria’s rebuttal.

“I’m not here to spy. Why would SHIELD need to spy on the Avengers?” Maria muttered to herself, turning and stomping toward the elevator to the gym.

The elevator opened, admitted Maria, and started moving before JARVIS spoke. “She is worried, because there have been attempts at breaking into both my mainframe and the Tower’s security system that Mister Stark has traced back to SHIELD.”

The news knocked the wind from Maria’s lungs. Director Fury hadn’t said anything about hacking into the Avengers’ home. Considering that the news shocked her, she imagined that no one had even let the Director into their plan.

“Director Fury trusts the Avengers. He wouldn’t give this order.” Maria lifted her chin, squared her shoulders. She glared straight ahead at the gap between the doors, imagining that a flesh-and-blood person stood in front of her.

“That is the only reason you were allowed into the Tower today, Agent Hill. Captain Rogers and Agent Barton are waiting for you.” 

The doors slid open, admitting Maria into the large gym and range combination that Tony had built specifically for the most active Avengers. She walked with her head held high, her shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. Clint, languid as he shot arrows at moving targets, noticed her before Steve, whose back was turned as he practiced his punches and kicks on a sandbag.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Clint drawled, grinning at the woman as he set his bow aside and sauntered over to meet her. Maria returned his grin and nodded.

“Miss Hill, we didn’t have very much warning. Otherwise we would have moved somewhere more accommodating.” Steve wiped at his sweating forehead and neck with a towel.

Maria shook her head. “No, no, it’s alright. I didn’t even know I was visiting until about an hour ago, and I didn’t want to draw you away from your business for too long.” She missed the look that Clint and Steve shared as she turned her attention to sorting through the paperwork in her arms.

“Let’s see. . . You both get the same accident reports that I gave Romanov concerning Barton’s exploding arrows and Stark’s suit malfunction in your last mission. Barton, you also have Director Fury’s answer to your last documented question and mail from a few of our underground agents.” Maria handed Clint his part of the stack. “As for you, Captain, on top of the accident reports we have had one of our offices sifting through the media pleas for public appearances and fan mail for the more important pieces.” She grinned and handed a third of the remaining paperwork to a flustered Steve.

Clint wrinkled his nose and pouted. “Why are you still the popular one? Anyone could see that I’m the best-looking Avenger. I mean, put some pointy ears on me and I can pull off the Legolas look.”

Chuckling, Maria shook her head. “Keep telling yourself that, Barton. JARVIS also informed me that I am to give Dr. Banner’s paperwork to you, Captain. Nothing like the last time, I promise,” Maria amended upon seeing the dark look that entered Steve’s eyes. “Just communications from other scientists and more funding for his experiments.”

“Thank you, Miss Hill. We appreciate you always dropping by to do this for us.” Steve straightened to his full height as if he were back in the Army, giving Maria a curt nod of thanks.

“It’s no problem. Some things just need to be delivered in person so as to keep them from the wrong hands.” Maria smiled, hoping to alleviate the two’s simmering suspicions. “Stark’s the only one left I need to talk with and then I’ll be on my way. Try to keep everything in one piece down here,” she joked, nodding toward the ripped sandbag with a pile of sand beneath it. Steve coughed, mumbling excuses as she walked back to the elevator.

Silence accompanied Maria on the ride back up to the main floor aside from JARVIS reminding her to place Thor’s items in his room and that Tony would be waiting for her in the living area. Maria slipped in and out of Thor’s room, doing her best not to disturb anything in the God of Thunder’s personal space. Confidential letters from Jane usually went through SHIELD considering they funded the woman’s safe house and continued experimentations.

“And there she is. I was wondering if you’d gotten lost. Of course there’s not much of anything interesting to see on this level of the Tower.” Tony dove right into his suspicions without preamble.

Maria huffed, annoyance seeping into her voice. “We are not spying on you, Stark. Director Fury trusts the Avengers and he hasn’t ordered anything of the sort.”

“Who says you’re telling the truth? JARVIS, is she telling the truth?”

“My scans have not revealed any deceptive thoughts or actions while she has visited with the other Avengers. I believe that she is telling what she thinks to be true.”

Disgruntled and hissing about being turned on by his own creation, Tony fidgeted with the screwdriver he’d brought up from the lab with him.

“Stark, if you would, everything I have left is for you. I believe that package has the samples you requested from the scene of the armadillo trolls. A few of the papers are accident reports, funding credentials, among other things, though a few are worrisome threats that the Director wanted brought to your attention.” Maria watched Tony sift through the pages, the box precariously balanced on the edge of his hand.

“Why do they always think that these threats will do any good?” Tony murmured, rolling his eyes after reading one page. “No moron in their right mind would think a substation attack would do anything to the Tower.”

“Most people are not you, Stark. Remind everyone to get their forms back to HQ as soon as possible.” Maria turned on her heel, making for the elevator that led back down to the ground floor.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Maria knew that Tony wouldn’t mention it to the others, but Steve was usually focused on turning in paperwork on time. She smiled, shaking her head. The Avengers team was turning into something spectacular—something that even Director Fury hadn’t anticipated. Stepping out of the elevator, she thought that the world needed more people like them in the ever-growing desperate times that each day brought.


	15. Rumblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange is happening within SHIELD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank fruityandoaty for the wonderful comment they gave me. It really made my week and helped my confidence in my writing. :)
> 
> This chapter is more setting up future installments than Avengers interaction, but it does continue to look into their personalities and growing relationships.

Bruce hated stepping foot into SHIELD headquarters. Many a scientist would love to catch hold of the Hulk’s vessel and work miracles meant to further society. Bruce’s panicked awareness of that fact battled with the confidence Director Fury’s cease and desist created after his run-in with General Ross making every visit an anxiety laden whirlpool of what-if’s.

Yet the other Avengers were busy with personal problems, meaning that only Bruce was free to return the paperwork that Agent Hill delivered to the Tower two weeks prior. Feeling as if every set of eyes followed him, Bruce pretended to sift through the papers in his hand. Clint’s papers were immaculate save for faint wrinkling and dust smudges around the edges while Natasha’s had a faint pink stain on one corner. Oil makes Tony’s elegant handwriting illegible to all but the most talented of people.

“Doctor Banner,” a woman yelled from down the hall he had just traversed. He turned, plastering on a smile, though he would rather run straight to Fury’s office and right back out into the street. The unknown of New York with its weekly super-villain attacks and strange infestations felt more comfortable than being within SHIELD’s walls.

“Hello, Miss Bryant. You’re hard at work as ever I see.” Bruce felt the Hulk stir at the simpering look the platinum-blonde woman gave him.

“Of course. Science won’t explain itself without a little help from us.” She laughed, her voice tittering in an octave that grated on Bruce’s already stressed nerves. “You know this, though, right? I’ve heard some wonderful discoveries have come from Avengers Tower in the past year.”

Even without the Hulk’s angry snuffling, Bruce heard warning alarms pinging at Bryant’s interest in his work. He offered her what he hoped to be a tired smile. “Yes, I keep myself busy when we’re not saving the world. I really have to deliver these to Director Fury,” Bruce lifted the papers in his hand, “so I can’t stick around to talk. I’m sorry. Maybe another time?”

Disappointment settled in Bryant’s pout as she nodded. “I understand, of course. Can’t keep the Director waiting if you want to keep your scalp, right?” She let loose another teeth-grating giggle, reaching forward and gripping Bruce’s arm in what she believed to be a friendly way. “You should stop by more often. We could get to know each other better.” 

Bryant gave him another simpering look before turning and flouncing down the hall. Bruce, sick to his stomach because of the interaction, turned his back on the woman’s exaggerated swaying hips and thrust-out breasts. No one wanted to interact with Bruce beyond what was necessary. Though Fury continued to try and assure them there would be no accidents as long as they didn’t anger Bruce, people would rather not take chances in a building with fragile and volatile substances or information. The sudden interest in him, and through him his work, left a sour taste in his mouth that remained as he talked with Fury about everything other than the strange encounter he’d just experienced.

* * *

New agents always thought they were the best thing since Betty White. Clint liked to knock them down a few pegs within their first training week, making sure they knew cockiness would only hinder them in the field. SHIELD had accepted six recruits at once, the highest number to date, just two days ago and they already strutted through the halls as if they owned the place.

Natasha gave Clint the look that told him to behave though he ignored it, slipping away from her side and around the corner behind three of the new recruits. They huddled together toward one side of the hallway, muttering to each other and giving shit-eating grins to other passing agents. 

Clint kept six paces between himself and the group, watching them just as his superhero namesake would in his shoes, which meant he noticed when all three moved their hands in a strange way. The SHIELD employee they had passed returned the gesture though she kept her eyes glued to the clipboard in her other hand. He received a distracted good morning from the woman instead of the hand signal. The whole exchange set his teeth on edge.

The three agents disappeared around another corner, and Clint followed a few seconds later only to run right into their ringleader. Clint stepped back in one fluid motion, a cold grin settling on his lips as he faced down the new recruits.

“I’ve been hearing some questionable talk coming from down the grapevine, but I never imagined that I’d get such a sour taste in my mouth from seeing a few bad seeds.” The archer loosely crossed his arms, his eyes piercing into the now uncomfortable ringleader’s.

“What talk would that have been, sir?” The only woman of the group watched him, a placating look of respect overtaking her previous smugness.

Clint leaned his shoulder against the wall, flicking his gaze between the three agents. “You three haven’t even seen active duty and yet I hear you’re not afraid to take on the worst our fair city has to offer.” He scowled at the ringleader has he opened his mouth to speak. “No matter what your job was before joining SHIELD, don’t think that you have the talent to overstep already set boundaries.”

“And who are you to give us orders, sir?” The third of the group, a thin man with beady mucus-green eyes glared at Clint.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Clint stared down the man, his mouth as thin as a razor’s edge. “Considering that I am Clint Barton, a high-ranking SHIELD operative along with being an important part of the Avengers Initiative, created by Director Fury himself, I would watch what tone of voice you use when speaking to me. Recruit.”

The instantaneous change usually amused Clint though today’s run-in with the recruits annoyed him to the point he wanted to put an arrow through their noses. Mucus guy paled, the mole just beneath his eye dark against his skin, while the woman clapped a hand over her mouth. The ringleader gaped at Clint, opening and closing his mouth though no words were forthcoming.

“Allow me,” the ringleader began with a stutter, “to apologize for my friend. He reached a decent rank in the military and having to start back at the bottom isn’t sitting well with him.”

“Whatever. Keep your noses clean, and I won’t be the only one around when you’re out in a dangerous situation and need backup.”

“Is that a threat, sir?” Mucus guy thrust his shoulders back and puffed out his chest.

“If that’s what you want to call it. I don’t like you three, and I’ll be watching you.” Clint smirked. “I’d be doing hawks everywhere wrong if I didn’t.”

* * *

“JARVIS said you want to talk to me?” Steve shifted his weight between his feet. Looking into the organized chaos that made up Tony’s lab put him on edge but it seemed to work for the genius billionaire.

“Yup, just the person I wanted to see,” Tony called from the other side of a 3D diagram of wires and other items Steve couldn’t name. “Come in, come in. Don’t be shy, Cap. Nothing’s going to bite.”

Steve inhaled and walked into the lab, skirting around a few loose sheets of metal and a cart of tools until he stood on the other side of the diagram. “What’s so important that you needed me down here? You don’t like people in your personal space.”

The fleeting look of surprise on Tony’s face morphed into his trademark grin so fast that Steve almost believed he’d imagined the flash of insight. He let the moment pass, however, knowing that Tony despised speaking about anything emotional.

“Remember when I said that SHIELD was trying to hack into the Tower’s security and our top secret files?” Tony fiddled with the buttons on his side of the machine.

“Our files aren’t that top secret, are they? But yes, I remember. What about it?” Steve watched Tony work, enraptured by the ease and dexterity the inventor showed during the most basic of movements.

Tony chuckled, casting Steve a knowing look and waggling his eyebrow. “Of course we do. We don’t air our deepest, darkest, naughtiest secrets to just anyone you know. Team-building exercises only take place once a week and don’t go any deeper than boxers or briefs.” 

Steve cleared his throat at the memory of their most recent conversation following their last movie night. “I don’t see how that’s important in the slightest.”

“Not in the conventional sense. No, what’s most important right now is that I’ve found where our little mole is hiding in the big wide world of web.” Tony nodded at the diagram. “You’re not going to understand a single lick of what this diagram is saying, but I can tell you with ninety-eight percent certainty that the mole’s signal is coming from one of SHIELD’s minor headquarters out in California.”

Leaning forward, Steve narrowed his eyes as he tried to make sense of the conglomeration of technology before him. “But Fury still denies any involvement?”

“See, that’s the thing, my dear Capitan. Fury has no knowledge of any orders to spy on the Avengers. He doesn’t need to try and hack into our top secret files, because he is the only person at SHIELD that has complete access to them.” Tony rested his arms against the side of his diagram projector, a frown tugging at his chapped lips. “So our hacker is either a lone wolf or SHIELD needs to schedule some late spring cleaning.”

Scenarios and implications ran circles through Steve’s thoughts. Though he had doubted during the days following Tony’s announcement that they were under a cyber-attack, Steve felt that he could trust Fury with their safety. The Avengers stood in the way of the people wishing ill upon New York and its people and sometimes further when necessary. SHIELD, while equipped to handle a good majority of those villains, did not have the manpower to handle certain ones that the Avengers faced on at least a monthly basis. Fury couldn’t risk alienating the Avengers by trying to spy on them within their own home.

“We should let Fury know what you’ve found.” Steve put on his best authoritative look when Tony grimaced. “Stark, if there are moles in SHIELD then Fury needs to know about their existence. By leaving them alone we not only compromise SHIELD, but we also compromise ourselves. What happens if one of these people digs deep enough and actually manages to get a hold of our files?” The second grimace, more a flinch than anything, told Steve that he had won the argument.

“Fine, but I’m not putting this through SHIELD’s shitty decryption. If Fury wants to know what I know badly enough, he’ll pay us a visit by Friday.” Tony shook his head, scowling at the thought of the Director stepping foot into the Tower. “JARVIS, make sure that I put in those security upgrades before he visits. He may not be our enemy, but he is a spy. Spies have natural curiosities.” The genius answered Steve’s unspoken question, causing the soldier to smile.

Though the team had its ups and downs, its good days and bad days, the Avengers watched out for each other just as much as themselves in their own special ways.


	16. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor returns from Asgard with a weight on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life happened--I had my tonsils out at the beginning of December and now I have ongoing familial issues. It's been awhile since I needed writing as an outlet, and this is the result of that.

The Avengers welcomed back Thor with open arms and celebrations—or at least a mixture of Clint and Tony forcing the celebration part. Upon seeing his Midgardian comrades after so long and arduous a time separated from them, Thor felt the warmth in his heart rekindle.

“Long time, no see, big guy. We thought you forgot about us little people down here.” Clint grinned, showing that his words were meant as a joke.

Thor boomed with forced laughter. “It is good to be amongst you once more. I had all but forgotten how to return to the Tower, yet the remainder of Anthony’s name is a gloriously lit landmark.”

Everyone but Tony, who muttered about gods and their horrible sense of aesthetic, laughed or grinned. Clint motioned toward the kitchen, his expectant eyes trained upon Thor. The god took the hint, walking into the other room to a grand breakfast laid out on every inch of the kitchen table and some of the countertops. Thor froze, blinking at the mini-feast in front of him, all worries momentarily forgotten in the face of such kindness.

“We didn’t mean to go overboard. Some people,” Steve glanced at the rest of his team, “just couldn’t help themselves.”

Tony, rolling his eyes, slung his arm through Steve’s and smirked. “Don’t let our dear Captain fool you, Goldilocks. He was just as pleased to make thirty home-made pancakes.” The billionaire leaned forward as if revealing a secret. “He wouldn’t listen to my suggestion of more than fifty,” he mock-whispered much to Steve’s red-faced embarrassment.

“We did try to make up for the lack of pancakes with a dozen boxes of different flavored Pop-tarts, Toaster Strudel, and waffles.” Bruce offered his two cents, a soft smiling playing along his lips.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Thor found he couldn’t speak for a few minutes. As the bickering quieted to be replaced by silence, he realized the Avengers were waiting for his reaction. The longer he waited, the more Natasha’s eyes steeled over, the more Tony’s brow furrowed, and the more Bruce fidgeted.

“I can’t thank you enough, my friends.” Thor cleared his throat, noticing the raspy quality of his tone. “To be so warmly welcomed after such difficulties… I could not ask for more.” He attempted a grin, a normal action for him, yet found that he had failed for the first time since he first lost his brother.

“What happened, big guy?” Clint asked first, his hawk eyes noting the drawn lines contouring Thor’s face.

At first Thor resisted with the impulse to share his worries and troubles with the Avengers. Though they were strong, they were still human, and, as his father had said, humans easily break. Looking from one set of eyes to another, however, changed his mind. No one in the room appeared willing to let him ignore Clint’s question.

“My father reminded me of the fragility lacing Midgard. Though I have found myself forgetting, he speaks the truth.” Thor turned his gaze back to the kitchen table, meeting his teammates’ gazes growing more difficult with every spoken word. “I have lived many hundreds of years, and I shall live many hundreds more, watching everything fade into the past. However,” Thor lifted his gaze, a simple smile brightening his eyes, “I have come to terms with this. I shall live in the moment, day by day, and cherish each one with every fiber of my being.”

The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Though I find that even doing this has its problems. One I should be able to rectify, yes, but not one I relish.” Thor’s voice trailed off, melancholy settling on his hunched shoulders.

“Jane, right?”

Tony’s eye twitched at Thor’s surprise, offering the god a tight grimace meant to be a smile.

“I had it happen with Pepper. That’s… eventually what drove us apart. The final nail in the coffin so to speak. She hated being put in danger,” Tony crossed his arms and tapped his foot against the floor, “and decided to make it official that she was no longer a good piece of bait to catch the great and mighty Tony Stark.”

Bruce caught on to the situation just as fast as his friend. “Did you save her? Do we need to help you?”

Shaking his head, Thor allowed himself to relax for the first time since arriving back in Midgard to the news that Jane had been cornered by enemies of his. “No, I saved and returned her to a safe area. Though I know I am strong enough to protect her from the dangers pointed her way, I find it difficult to continue that line of thinking.” He lowered his head and clenched his fist. “She would be safer by cutting all ties with me. Even if she continues working for SHIELD, they look after their agents. Especially with her groundbreaking discoveries putting them ahead in the race for knowledge.”

Anger, sadness, and understanding permeated the kitchen at that point. Every Avenger had lost someone dear to them due to the line of duty. Knowing that even an all-powerful Norse god experienced the same troubling decisions felt both exhilarating and horrible. Midgardians lived short lives, yes, but they related to Thor through their shared sorrow and loss. Perhaps with them standing behind him, he would find it within himself to make the correct, if painful, call.

“For now, however… We shouldn’t let this bountiful feast go to waste,” Thor boomed, clapping his hands at the same time. The atmosphere changed as if lightning had struck, the god’s loud voice shattering the gloomy atmosphere. “I have long waited for our Captain to make his delicious pancakes again, and it has been worthwhile. They smell even better than I remember.”

A now grinning Steve rubbed his knuckles against his other arm, one of few nervous tics that Thor noticed of their Captain. “I’d seen it done when I was a kid but didn’t get a chance to actually try it myself until I woke up after the War. It’s harder than I thought, so I’m glad someone enjoys them.”

“Cap, shut your mouth,” Tony groaned, letting his head fall back to rest on his shoulders. “I’ve already told you that you’re too damn worried about appearances. Be more like me—”

“What, egotistical and narcissistic?” Clint chimed in, smirking at the offended party in question.

“I meant more along the lines of confidence.” Tony sniffed, turning his nose up at the archer.

Bruce gently poked Tony’s arm as he walked to the table. “They sometimes amount to the same thing, Tony.”

The billionaire held his hand over his heart and staggered into a chair. “Brucie, you wound me,” he moaned. “I’ve never been so insulted.”

“My heart weeps for you, Tony. But you’re in the way.” Natasha chuckled when Tony literally jumped out of her way after she whispered in his ear, flashing him a cheeky smirk as she sauntered to the table.

“Everyone’s out to get me! You see this, right?” Tony turned an imploring gaze to Steve and Thor. “Right?”

Steve shook his head, amusement flitting across his eyes at his team’s shenanigans. “I didn’t see anything.” He hid his grin as he passed the floundering Tony who turned the full extent of his puppy eyes upon Thor.

“I see that we are a team learning and adapting to each other. It is a good thing, Anthony, when you have friends with whom to share a joke or a laugh.” Thor slowly set his hand on Tony’s shoulder, measuring each inch of movement to make sure he didn’t overstep one of the inventor’s boundaries. Muscles bunched beneath his hand, but he found it to be a good sign that Tony didn’t bolt.

Offering a weak smile-turned-grimace in return, Tony joined the chaos surrounding the food. Thor watched his teammates—his fragile, short-lived friends—and blinked at the thought that he would gladly sacrifice his own long-lived, near immortal life, to save theirs even for a few extra years. Their presence once he broke the news with Jane was paramount to how much his broken heart would heal.

Yet heal his heart would, the broken pieces mended by the small and powerful beings before him.


	17. Toxicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toxic people have been in and out of Tony's whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update just a day after the last? What sorcery?!
> 
> There is none, really. I got caught in the "minor" Snowmageddon, so I'm stuck in my house until the nine inches of snow melt. I also really wanted to get this chapter written. This specific chapter could have gone on for pages, because I am personally dealing with an exceptionally toxic person. Writing is therapeutic, so I wanted to put what I could into a chapter (which actually replaced another on my outline, but eh, I like this better).
> 
> So for those people who like the person I made toxic, please don't be offended. I needed someone close to the protagonist of the chapter, and, thinking through everyone and the people close to them, Tony and this person worked the best.

Thinking that a day couldn’t possibly get any worse always invited the universe to up the ante. Tony knew the lesson well—had experienced it time and time again—and yet he still continued to tempt Fate every single time.

“Repeat that again for me, would ya?” Tony gripped the wrench in his hand tighter, his heart hammering against his scar-covered chest. He heard wrong. He must have.

“Miss Potts requests that you meet her for lunch today, sir.” JARVIS repeated the same sentence as before, sending Tony’s heart plummeting to his feet.

“Nope. No can do. Tell her that I’m sick. Deathly ill. Can’t even move out of bed.” Tony felt himself slipping. Only through sheer willpower did he manage to keep his voice steady. “She can’t just lay that on a guy out of left field. Tell her to try again in a month or two. Or a year.”

“Sir, she has said that she will not take no for an answer. And, if I may, sir, I would advise that you do meet with her. It will be a good chance for complete closure on a… harmful subject.” 

The pause in JARVIS’s sentence startled a laugh from Tony.

“J, she won’t let me completely cut her off. There’s not going to be any sense of closure where she’s concerned.” Tony hated the hint of defeat in his voice. He was the last remaining Stark—a family known for their ability to get exactly what they wanted when they wanted that something. His ancestors probably looked at him in shame from beyond their graves.

“Allow me to make another suggestion, sir. Invite one or two of the Avengers to come with you. She will dislike their presence, yes, but she will be unable to act as she normally does unless she wants other people privy to her true personality.” JARVIS’s smugness pervaded Tony’s lab, the projected confidence somewhat seeping into his creator. 

Pepper depended upon her public front to keep Stark Industries running and the media gushing over Tony’s latest ideas or sympathizing with him in his failings. Her true face showed itself in the privacy of a safe place and mostly when she wanted something from Tony. His agreeing to continue his work with the Avengers was not only the first time he’d truly ignored her feelings but also caused their eventual break-up.

“She’ll be pissed,” Tony muttered, not completely adverse to the idea. “Besides, no one would want to deal with my problems on top of theirs.”

“If you will not ask then I shall. It is not in your best interest to meet with Miss Potts by yourself.”

“Traitor.” Tony knew that JARVIS spoke the truth despite how hard he wanted to ignore the suggestion. “Fine. Ask…” His sentence faded. Out of every one of the Avengers, Tony didn’t know which ones he could ask for something like this.

“I will alert Dr. Banner, and, should you prefer, Miss Romanov.”

A weak smile found its way to Tony’s face. “Are you trying to get her killed?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

Tony weakly chuckled and shook his head. “Smart-ass.”

~*~*~*~

Bruce, Natasha, and Tony walked into the swanky uptown restaurant that Pepper loved and Tony hated. A five-star rating did little for the flavor or ambience, which the restaurant had neither, and every customer loved to ogle the billionaire when he appeared. Tony shortened his gait, falling back to follow his teammates, his press smile blazing even while he clenched his hands in his slacks’ pockets.

“Stark, she’ll need to see you first.” Natasha glanced over her shoulder at him. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Damn Natasha and her training. As soon as JARVIS had made the request, she had showed up in casual dress clothes and promised to help Tony in whatever way necessary. Even Bruce received the brunt of Tony’s annoyance. Bruce, not being as keen on the idea of eating in public, didn’t agree to the outing until JARVIS let slip that Pepper was their dinner date. The flash of green in the doctor’s eyes hadn’t allayed Tony’s worries.

“There she is,” Bruce murmured, his head turned just enough so that his soft voice reached Tony alone.

Pepper’s expression soured upon seeing a smiling Bruce and emotionless Natasha behind a nervous Tony.

“Hey, Pepper.” Tony jerked his fingers back and forth in the semblance of a wave. “You look great, as usual, though you really didn’t have to go through all the trouble of the Stila.”

Wearing the expensive make-up that Tony had bought her before their break-up was only another way that she wanted to control the situation. By bringing Bruce and Natasha, Tony had already thrown a wrench into her plans, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Only the best for you, Tony.” Pepper plastered on her own public smile as she stood, approached Tony, and hugged him, prolonging the action despite feeling him tense beneath her hands. “I haven’t checked in, because I haven’t wanted to bother you. If you were out doing something for the Avengers, I would have felt awful for distracting you.” She sat back down in her seat, completely ignoring Bruce and Natasha and grinning at an uncomfortable Tony.

“Oh, well, you know. We’re all over the place.” Tony took the seat opposite Pepper, Bruce and Natasha taking the two remaining ones between the ex-couple. “Hardly ever a moment to breathe.”

Pepper wrinkled her brow and pursed her lips. “And I worry about that, Tony. You run yourself ragged as it is but dealing with Avenger problems on top of your own work?” She shook her head. “Are you sure you’re not taking on more than you’re capable of handling?”

The tension in the air deteriorated the longer Pepper spoke. Bruce drummed his fingers against his knee beneath the table while Natasha, back rigid, stared over the doctor’s shoulder. Tony hoped they’d keep it together long enough for the dinner to conclude.

“Nah, I’m fine. Actually, I don’t think I’ve been so good since before…” Tony choked on the word. “Before Afghanistan,” he finished. He caught the steely glint in her eyes, allowing the vague sense of triumph to run its course before she shattered his mood.

“I’m glad to hear it. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s you, Tony.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows against the table. “I mean, you’ve been through so much already in your life. It’s about time you found and kept something good.”

Barbs cut into Tony’s fluttering heart, the attack already beginning in less than five minutes. He felt Natasha’s foot press against his own though she didn’t look at him or Pepper.

“I think,” Tony cleared his throat before trying again,” I think that I’ve found something very good this time around.” His gaze slipped to his hands tightly clasped in his lap. “But enough about me, Pepper. What was it you needed to meet with me face-to-face about? Everything’s still going smoothly with the company. Otherwise JARVIS would have alerted me to any problems.” He forced his gaze back up to meet hers.

A hint of venom entered her next words.

“Wait, you still have JARVIS monitoring the company? I said that you didn’t have to put any more strain on his databases by doing that. I’ve got everything under control.” She frowned, playing the “I’m hurt” card Tony was well-accustomed to from their relationship.

“It’s just a precaution. Remember that everything about my name is invested in that company. If I don’t keep an eye over it, then I’m a horrible businessman.” Tony forced his public smile only to be rewarded by Pepper’s in return. “Anyway, what do you need to talk to me about?”

Pepper looked around, as if searching for a waiter or waitress, and huffed when she saw no one. “You would think that they would have come and at least taken our drink orders by now. Though I guess it has been awhile since we last came here. They may have new employees.” She shrugged, turning back to Tony with a bright smile.

Immediately on edge, Tony shifted in his seat, his knee accidentally brushing against Bruce’s. The engineer discreetly tried to put distance between them once more until he felt Bruce tap on his knee. Flustered by keeping up with Pepper, it took Tony a few long seconds to realize that Bruce was signing to him in Morse.

“You need out.”

Tony ignored him, setting his teeth and resuming the battle of wits. “Pepper, you’ve stalled long enough. What do you want?”

Bluntness brought out the worst in Pepper, but Tony had had enough. He wanted out just as much as Bruce felt that escaping was a good idea. Natasha shifted in her chair, her arm hanging off the back as she stretched.

“There’s no need to be so rude, Tony.” Pepper sniffed, her eyebrows arcing in offense. “I figured that we could just have a nice lunch between the two of us, but…”

“Miss Potts, enough.”

To the surprise of the table, Bruce was the first to break into the conversation. Tony couldn’t see his eyes, but he imagined that they were green-tinted by the way Pepper paled when Bruce looked at her.

“It’s obvious what you’re doing to Tony, and it’s not going to work this time. Yes, I say this time,” Bruce frowned at Pepper’s astonished reaction, “because people such as yourself grew into themselves through the course of their lives.”

“Dr. Banner, I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, and, quite frankly, I find it humiliating.” Pepper turned her glare on Tony.

“Don’t think you can turn this conversation back to him.” Natasha’s quiet voice sent what remaining blood there was dripping from Pepper’s face. “State your business or I will.”

Pepper’s glare sharpened as her head jerked around to look at Natasha for the first time. “You have no idea what I called him here for.”

Tony doubted he’d ever grow tired of that smirk Natasha wore when she outsmarted her prey. Deadly, sexy, and beautiful all in one, even her facial expressions were weapons. Thankfully she was now on his side.

“I beg to differ. JARVIS let me in on some little company secrets that had escaped Tony’s notice to date. As you said,” Natasha said, beginning to play with the still wrapped silverware in front of her, “Tony is busy in his lab making sure that his teammates are well-outfitted. He’s busy keeping us alive, but what are you doing, Miss Potts?”

“I have no—”

“You, Miss Potts, are stealing from his company and have been ever since you broke up with him over the Avengers.” Natasha chuckled, dark and dangerous, at the look of horror on Pepper’s face. “You can’t keep secrets from us. It’s better that you learn that lesson now, in a private setting, before we publicly reveal you.”

Finding her footing, Pepper sneered at the assassin, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “Put anything in front of the public, and Tony goes down with me. I know plenty that can hurt his company aside from my own resignation should that happen.”

“Not quite true, Miss Potts.” Bruce’s tight smile actually managed to send a chill skittering down Tony’s back. “You understand that we have Steve on our side, correct? As of right now, he’s still the poster boy of America. He can do no wrong, and though the media will do all they can to besmirch Tony’s name, Steve will fight the rumors, and he will outgun you.”

“Don’t make me laugh, doctor. Having lived with Tony for as long as you have, you must see that I’m not wrong.” Pepper laughed, shaking her head. “Tony’s a ticking time-bomb that regularly resets. Most of the time he only hurts himself, but sometimes he catches those closest to him in the crossfire. Don’t you, Tony?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

Grimacing, the billionaire lowered his eyes. Even knowing how horrible Pepper could get, she often spoke the truth. He did have a bad habit of endangering the people around him through his own mishaps.

“Don’t listen.”

Bruce’s fingers tapped against Tony’s knee once more before resting where they landed, exuding desperately needed warmth and comfort.

“At least this time the people around him don’t need to depend on someone else to save them.” Natasha, still appearing polite, took on a scathing tone.

“Excuse me?” Pepper returned the force of her ire to Natasha. “If not for his inability to keep his mouth shut, I wouldn’t have been kidnapped by the Mandarin and almost killed.”

“And if you had any training, you could have saved not only yourself but Tony as well before it escalated to that point.” Natasha shrugged. “When living with or around a person with enemies, everyone needs to be on guard. Just because you were dating a billionaire and a superhero didn’t mean you could take it easy in the lap of luxury.”

“I believe we’re done here, Miss Potts. Whatever you came here for, you won’t receive, whether that be begging to resume your relationship, a raise, or a promotion. In fact,” Bruce finally looked at Tony, “I would say that she deserves demotion or even firing if she’s been stealing from your company. Haven’t you said before that JARVIS did a fair share of running the company before Pepper did?”

Green suited Bruce’s eyes, it really did, and damn if Tony didn’t feel himself breaking down beneath the unwavering support of his teammates. 

“Yeah, he did.” Tony cleared his throat, lifting his chin in a show of confidence. “But I wouldn’t want to completely oust her of a job, you know? Maybe a demotion to greeting secretary in the main building? It wouldn’t be too difficult for me to step back into the role of CEO and find someone to be the public face of Stark Industries.”

“You wouldn’t,” breathed a panicking Pepper.

“Oh, but I would, my dearest darling.” Tony pushed his chair back and stood, nodding in her direction. “Expect the official paperwork in your e-mail by tonight. And do try to be a good girl about it. Their”—he nodded to Bruce and Natasha—“threats weren’t empty.”

The three Avengers left just as the waiter came to their table, leaving stares and fluttering whispers in their wake. In the limo on the way back to the Tower, conversation remained light between the three teammates. None of them mentioned how Tony stretched his leg out so that his foot touched Natasha’s or how he let his hand barely rest against Bruce’s arm.

After having dealt with toxic people for the majority of his life, Tony finally understood that diluting such people with the company of friends went a long way on the road of healing.


	18. Hard-Won Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an Avenger is hurt, they all hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have good news~. I began work at my local Books A Million this past week! I'm really excited about this job, and I'm wondering if that's not translating to my writing (I'm updating just a week after my last after months of inactivity, right?). So I don't honestly know if it's going to affect my update schedule or not, but I don't think that it should.
> 
> Anyway, about the chapter. I sort of modeled it as a 5 + 1--I just didn't break it up into separate sections, and you'll see why that is once you get into the story. The story is about to progress into "officializing" the OT6 relationship, which I know has been a long time coming, and I thank every one of my readers for sticking with me to this point as their relationship grew. :)

Bruce’s urge to flee abated in places like laboratories and even hospitals—they had symbolized safety in the past. Such places allowed him a moment’s respite to catch his breath, maybe help a person who needs him, before continuing to run.

Sitting in an uncomfortably hard chair in the waiting room desperate for news on one of his few trusted friends diminished the feeling of safety by quite a bit.

Everyone thought Captain America invincible—or as close to immortality as a human could attain. Despite all the close calls and long recovery periods, not every person had the ability to take a bullet or even a missile and spit it out like the Other Guy. Not even Captain America.

Bruce lifted his green-tinged eyes, following the path Tony traced in the middle of the room for a few moments. Only the hospital’s strict ban on alcoholic beverages had kept him sober to this point. Being the root cause of Steve’s injury visibly weighed on the billionaire. Bruce opened his mouth, an empty, pointless reassurance lodged in his throat. 

Seconds passed. Tony passed by him for the millionth time. Bruce closed his mouth and lowered his eyes once more. His clenched hands shook in his lap. The Other Guy rumbled just beneath the surface of his control, grunting as he pushed against Bruce. Feeling the scientist’s emotions on top of their shared fatigue from changing made the Other Guy cranky and worried.

Bruce attempted and failed numerous times over the course of the past two hours to calm himself and, by extension, his other self. Resurfacing memories ruined his meditative thoughts—the deathly silence that welcomed him upon changing back to himself followed by the chaotic rush to the nearest hospital because of the chance SHIELD would arrive too late to be of any help.

He caught himself rocking back and forth and forced himself to sit still. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow his emotions to run free as they pleased.

Natasha sat opposite him both physically and emotionally. She had collapsed in the chair across the room from Bruce and curled into herself within moments. Throughout the eternal two hours of waiting, she had barely even twitched her fingers, staring a hole into the floor in front of her chair.

Guilt, worry, and confusion swirled around her thoughts, warring against her training and the ghosts screaming at her not to grow too attached. She was supposed to watch Steve’s back when the fight took a dangerous turn. One second his back was pressed against hers, and he had disappeared in the next, grabbed by one of the flying creatures. 

She had shot at the beast, her impeccable aim finding its weak spots but not doing near enough damage to save him. He had continued to fight, bashing at the creature’s legs and underbelly with his shield and fist until it dropped him in the middle of its swarming young.

Natasha peered at Tony from beneath her eyelashes, her lips drawn into a tight line. She yelled at him in her mind, screaming at him to sit down and give them all the much needed peace, but her lips refused to give voice to her thoughts. Whether that inability stemmed from not wanting to talk or sympathy for Tony, she didn’t know.

The ghosts grew louder at the surge of sympathy. She shut her eyes against the scene in front of her, focusing on silencing the voices swimming between her ears. They were, for the seventh time, soon overshadowed by the memory of screaming over the team’s shared comms.

Natasha scrunched her eyes, slipping her hands over her ears and slowly shaking her head. She wanted to forget those screams—burn them from her mind and pretend that neither Steve nor Tony could ever make those sounds.

She promised herself that the person responsible for engineering the creatures would pay in horrible ways for putting her teammates through hell and for sending her back to the time where she was useless.

Clint watched Natasha from seven seats away. He squatted in his chair, still on edge from the fight and resulting consequences and feeling that he needed to remain on guard. By sitting a certain way, every entrance and exit was within his sight and he could move to any of them in mere seconds. His bow rested across the chairs next to him, his fingers running over its surface in order to occupy his hands.

He blamed himself. As the Avengers’ lookout, he should have been able to warn Steve about the incoming threat. The other bird-dinosaur hybrid creature had picked that moment to target Clint. Distracted by not falling off the building and dying, he hadn’t realized anything was wrong until he heard the screaming. He saw nothing more than a writhing mass of bodies when he’d glanced down in the last area he’d seen Steve or Tony. Thankfully he couldn’t see the full scene then—otherwise he might have been killed by the creature’s second onslaught.

The archer’s eyes flicked between the entrances, exits, and his exhausted teammates. They all needed some type of comfort. Natasha wasn’t yet ready to open herself to any of them. Bruce had a full plate keeping himself from Hulking out. Thor stood apart, silent and ominous like the electric charge before a lightning strike. Tony’s rational thinking had clocked out in route to the hospital.

His eyes met the ones of the nurse at the waiting room’s desk. She flushed, a look of mixed pity and terror fluttering across her face before she rolled her chair to the side. She turned around and pretended to work on paperwork.

When Natasha moved, Clint tensed, ready to jump to his feet if she had lost her sense of the present. She lowered her hands and clasped them around her knees, resting her chin on top of them. 

None of the Avengers would meet each other’s eyes. 

They couldn’t beneath their crippling emotions and unstable atmosphere.

Thor stood apart from his Midgardian friends, his thoughts a deep whirlpool that sucked him into their dark depths. A friend, once again, faced the danger of mortality. Steve’s injury, however, disturbed Thor more than any to date.

Steve presented himself as society’s role model, an unflappable and invincible icon that even Thor had begun believing. To see Steve, a human that Thor counted as an equal, laid so low struck harder than any physical hit ever could.

His father’s words echoed in the dark recesses of his mind, taunting him and his long life. Thor embraced the pain the memory caused, taking and pushing it into his emotions to fuel their fire. Every emotion he felt with a singular intensity, reminding himself to think and feel as if he were a Midgardian.

Every one of the Avengers ached for their injured teammate and each other. None knew how to broach the subject with the others. Thor gave them their privacy by not openly staring at them. They would signal when they were ready to socialize.

Thor caught Natasha shaking her head, a haunted look stealing across her features. He empathized with her, knowing she was remembering the horrible moment just like everyone else. Though he didn’t wear the comm Tony had given him in his ear, he clipped it to his collar. He had heard the panic and terror just like Natasha and Clint.

Unlike them, Thor had seen the immediate end results. With Tony and Steve swarmed by the young creatures, Thor had no choice but to electrocute everything in a given radius of his friends. Tony had caught a slight jolt from a miscalculation on Thor’s behalf, but once ninety percent of the young were dispatched, Tony easily took care of the remainder.

The bottoms of Thor’s boots were still soaked with blood. He had had no chance to remove them in the rush to transfer Steve to the hospital. The Nordic God stared at the faint, bloody footprints he had left when he had claimed his spot. He forced himself to remember to whom that blood belonged.

Tony’s Iron Man suit had caught the brunt of Steve’s blood during the attack and ensuing accident. Specks found their way through the suit’s cracks and gaps, saturating Tony’s clothes as a grim reminder that he had possibly caused the death of Captain America.

Seeing that Steve had been in trouble, Tony swooped in to try and remove him to a safer, calmer area. Instead he had been bogged down by sheer numbers of the creatures, pulled into the fight beside Steve. Tony, distracted by the numbers and warnings flashing on his HUD, had missed the attack directed toward him until he heard Steve shout his name.

The guy just always had to play the heroic soldier…

Tony flinched when Steve’s screams of pain rattled around his skull. He had turned, fully prepared to protect himself, but Steve had jumped in front of him. Blood—Steve’s blood—had coated Tony’s mask and yet the creatures kept attacking, driven into a frenzy by the scent of fresh blood.

He didn’t remember what he had screamed over the comms. Panic had set in as he kicked and blasted every one of the creatures away from Steve’s prone body so that Tony could cover him with the Iron Man suit. Thor’s rescue came not a moment too soon, but there was still so much blood that Tony didn’t even care about the second-degree burn he’d obtained from Thor’s attack.

Nurses and even a doctor had begged Tony to let them look him over. He point blank refused, demanding that they save Steve Rogers, overall good guy and poster boy, before they even breathed on cocky, egomaniacal, good-for-nothing Tony Stark.

_“Tony’s a ticking time bomb… Most of the time he only hurts himself, but sometimes he catches those closest to him in the crossfire.”_

God, he really wanted a drink.

~*~*~*~

Steve woke slowly, the darkness brightening to blurred shapes and colors before sharpening into a blinding, painful light. He groaned, shutting his eyes and turning his head. Someone shuffled around him, a clicking noise heralding the disappearance of the bright light and another click bringing about a dimmer one. Steve tried once more to open his eyes and managed to keep them open.

The Avengers crowded every available spot, anxious eyes trained upon him. Steve tried to ask them what had happened, but a wave of dizziness stole his breath. He moved his arm, meaning to rest it over his eyes until the light-headedness passed, only to find two IV lines were connected to him.

Fuzzy recollections swam beneath the layer of morphine and antibiotics pumping through the IVs. Tony had needed protecting, and Steve took the hit meant for him. The soldier searched the room, forcing himself to focus long enough to find Tony hanging back in the room’s darkest corner. The genius averted his gaze when Steve met it, pretending that he hadn’t noticed.

“Tony,” Steve croaked, wincing when it upset the wound to his chest. Red filled his vision, his blood seeping from the open wounds on his body, and he swore he saw the white of his ribs. He snapped back to the present just as quickly as he’d left it, repeating Tony’s name in a smoother voice.

“I’m sorry.” Tony’s whisper carried throughout the silent room, broken with self-hatred and grief.

Steve shook his head, a soft smile settling on his lips in the dim light. “You’re safe.” He shut his eyes. “That’s all that matters.”


	19. Immunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some convincing the Avengers agree to non-traditional training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no post. I no longer have the job at Books A Million (managerial/coworker issues) and am currently unemployed, so yay. This chapter is short, compared to my others, but it's only because I didn't quite feel this one as strongly as others. HOWEVER I am working on the next chapter right now. I just need to do research for my proposed plot. I'm expecting it to be up sometime within a few days.
> 
> Just a fun fact: This story is 116 pages in my Word document as of the end of this chapter.

Natasha near fainted the day that the Avengers agreed to participate in one of her training regimens. Even with Clint thoroughly warning the uninitiated about her version of training, every person wanted to make the attempt.

That agreement led to the team being seated in the communal area on every available, comfortable surface, their rapt attention fixed upon her. Natasha’s lips thinned at the expectant looks, nervousness bubbling deep in her stomach.

“This is a basic training regimen I went through as a child. It can be dangerous if done incorrectly, but I have faith in myself and each of you that that doesn’t happen.” Natasha motioned to the glass vials arranged on a nearby end table. “Half of those vials hold a type of poison while the other half hold the corresponding antidote. None are life-threatening, but have been used, in my experiences, in kidnappings and torture sessions.” 

She noticed the hesitance mounting within her teammates. “By exposing yourself to these, you’ll build an immunity over time. Should anyone find themselves in a torture situation, these will have little to no effect.” Linking her hands behind her back, she straightened her body and stared down each of the Avengers. “It’s a calculated advantage with little risk in a safe environment.”

No one answered her at first, fleeting glances passing between Clint and Tony, Steve and Thor, until Bruce broke the silence.

“I’m not one to usually agree to something like this—having past experience with substances injected into my body,” Bruce grins, self-hatred obvious, “but this might be a decent idea considering the rate of enemies we have continues to grow.”

Thor grinned, hiding his miniscule scoff with a laugh. “I doubt they have yet created any type of poison that will affect an Asgardian. T’would be interesting to partake in this training session regardless.”

“I’m not so sure,” Steve murmured, crossing his arms. Natasha’s eyes found his, unreadable though she couldn’t help the twinge of regret at the captain not trusting her. “Would anything be able to work with the serum in my blood?” Steve continued to ask, curiosity—not disgust—visible on his face. Natasha sighed a breath of relief.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Not to mention you’re still healing, Captain. I would suggest sitting out on this one.”

Memories of the horrible situation just a week prior momentarily weigh heavy on each of them.

“Regardless,” Tony mimicked Thor, smirking at the god and breaking the souring mood, “count me out. Not that it’s a trust issue, it’s more a “My immune system is already shit so let’s not push the issue” issue.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over where the arc reactor once rested. Natasha frowned, mentally conceding his point.

“Yet at the same time, that means you’re even more susceptible should you be put in such a situation.” She chose her words with care. “While your immune system is less than healthy, this is still a controlled environment with Bruce around to administer medical aid should the need arise. You _do_ trust Bruce, right?” Natasha’s eyes glinted, a trace of teasing in her voice.

Bruce glowered at the spy. “Don’t push him into something he doesn’t want to do. We’ve had this discussion.”

“But on the flip side, Nat does have a point. Genius though he is, Tony’s the most vulnerable. Whereas we have Mister Jolly Green Giant around to help him here, that might not be the case in a hostage scenario.” Clint added his two cents to the conversation.

Tony grimaced, fidgeting with the seam on the arm of his chair. “Look, it’s all very rational when you put it like that with nothing happening, but once things get going, there’s no way to stop. Who’s to say that I won’t go into cardiac arrest or some type of coma that the antidote can’t fix?”

Natasha’s eyes softened when the billionaire glanced her way. “All the more reason to find out in a safe environment. What would happen if kidnappers drug you and you go into cardiac arrest with them? They won’t care what happens to you.” She motioned around the room. “We do.”

“Just gotta put a guy on blast, don’t you?” Tony’s weak voice betrayed his true fears beneath his posturing exterior.

“We’re not going to make you do anything that you don’t feel comfortable doing, Tony.” Steve glared at Natasha and Clint. “As your team and your friends, we’ll respect any decisions made between us.”

Clint lowered his eyes, obviously cowed, while Natasha nodded. She cared for each person in the room with her which spurred her to push them into preparing themselves. However she didn’t want to push anyone too far. Triggers, while still being learned, lurked beneath every spoken word or movement.

“He’s right. I just want you to be safe, that’s all.” Natasha offered Tony a small smile. “You don’t have to bow under our peer pressure.”

“Then I will gladly take you up on the kind offer and sit out the festivities.” Tony wilted as the tension left his body. “I’ll stick around, though. You know, see how it goes and all.”

Everyone grinned or laughed at that, causing heat to rise to the billionaire’s pouting face.

“So Steve and Tony have gracefully bowed out.” Natasha looked to both men for affirmation. “That leaves three mice for me to play with.” She all but took on the posture of a cat with those words, causing laughter to erupt around the room.

“And there won’t be lasting effects from these, correct?” Bruce questioned, standing and moving to get a closer look at the liquid in the vials.

“None whatsoever. One paralyzes a person’s body but leaves their mind operational. Usually used in torture situations, it allows the enemy a chance to cause the most pain with the least amount of struggle.” Natasha pointed at a vial with a deep red liquid.

“That one,” Clint pointed to a light blue solution, having joined them around the table, “causes hallucinations. Depending on the dosage, they can be minor such as seeing an elephant in the room. Major hallucinations leave the victim helpless, lost in increasingly ridiculous and dangerous delusions.”

“It’s used more to cause a person to self-destruct so that the enemy is left open to do as they wish,” Natasha supplied.

Steve, Thor, and Tony watch from their places around the room, disgust or surprise flitting across their features as the spies explained each type of poison.

“And you’re positive that someone could engineer an enhanced version of one of these that could actually hurt Steve or Bruce or even the Norse Thunder God?” Tony asked, incredulity peppering his question.

“Tony, you created the first Iron Man suit in a cave with scraps and saved yourself from a dangerous situation. Bruce tested an untested serum on his own body while Steve took the risk with his own. Thor first arrived on Earth with no powers, and Clint and I are simply human.” Natasha’s lips thinned, her thoughts rampant. “Anything’s possible.”

Natasha, the person who never thought to create close bonds after the Red Room, sat through the remainder of the afternoon working with her team turned friends. All she wanted now was to make sure they remained safe and ready for anything that could harm them.


	20. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony falls ill though for once it's not his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I focus on Tony more than any of the other Avengers... He's my favorite, of course, but I'm trying so hard not to let him have a monopoly on the story. D:
> 
> Also, this is where they start getting comfortable being touchy-feely/close with each other. So soon! :D

Tony realized that the sinus infection he thought he had was something different when he started finding specks of blood whenever he coughed. It’s not until the seventh coughing fit that he interrupted his work. Cursing beneath his breath, the genius lurched to his feet and to his lab’s private bathroom.

A pale sweat-soaked and grease-stained face met his eyes in the mirror. He wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth, glaring at his reflection. A bug had been making its rounds in New York, and Tony had simply assumed he had caught a cold or maybe a sinus infection. Assumptions, of course, usually left Tony in a dangerous state.

“Sir, I would suggest alerting Dr. Banner to your medical needs.” JARVIS, ever on point, spoke as Tony opened the medicine cabinet to see what medicines he could use.

“Nah, I’m fine, J. Nothing that we can’t handle together, right?” Tony winced as he spoke for the first time in a few hours, not realizing his lungs would hurt quite that bad.

“My scans are indicating that inflammation is setting into your lungs, sir. That is not a medical emergency for which we’re prepared.” JARVIS rarely took that tone with Tony.

Tony frowned, resting a hand over his scarred chest, and felt how fast and shallow his heart beat. “Shit…” He murmured, hating the fact that his body could betray him on a moment’s whim, hating the fact that he had to admit he needed help.

“Shall I alert Dr. Banner?”

“Fine. Yes.” He sensed another coughing fit building. Groaning, Tony wearily trudged back into his lab and collapsed on the worn couch, preparing himself for both the telling off from Bruce and the upcoming healing process.

Bruce appeared in the doorway a mere two minutes after Tony took his seat. “Tony, what’s wrong? JARVIS said it was urgent.”

“Course he would,” Tony muttered, glaring at the ceiling from where his head rested on the back of the couch. “’m not feeling too hot, Brucie.”

“Can you tell me what’s wrong? How you’re feeling?” Bruce’s frowning face appeared in his line of vision.

“I was fine until I started coughing every other breath. After so many coughing fits, I’m starting to see blood.” Tony slowly inhaled, wincing when his chest ached. “J also said something about inflammation. My chest’s starting to hurt, too, I guess.”

The severity of Bruce’s frown increased with each word Tony uttered. “It sounds like the bug going around likes your weak immune system.”

“No kidding. Can you help me out? I’m in the middle of important upgrades to Cap’s suit that need to be finished ASAP.” Tony hoped against his better judgment that he’d be back in his lab within a day.

“First of all we’re checking you over in my lab. Then you’re going to your bed and resting until I can figure out what’s wrong and how best to treat you.” Bruce moved away. “Can you stand?”

Tony tried—he really did. As soon as he made it to his feet, grinning at his best friend, the world decided to perform a pirouette and leave Tony behind. He groaned at the feeling of hitting the floor, the pain sharp for a few seconds until his mind dulled it to a throb. Rolling onto his back, he noted Bruce’s lips were moving.

“Tony, stay with me. JARVIS, I need Steve or Thor down here now.” Bruce rested his hand against Tony’s forehead, his eye twitching at the heat beneath his hand. He shifted his friend, letting Tony’s head rest on top of his leg as he checked for any injuries from the fall.

“No worries, Brucie,” Tony slurred, the silly grin still plastered to his lips, “I have the best doctor in the state, right?”

Giving into the bliss that unconsciousness brought, despite Bruce’s pleas, proved harder to resist than Tony expected.

~*~*~*~

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Tony’s dreams merged with his reality. At times he felt comfortable while others he simply wanted to die to escape the pain and heat. One such time he managed to voice his thoughts, whispering his discomfort to whomever sat on the edge of his bed at that time.

“Nuh uh, none of that, _dorogaya_.” Natasha’s soft voice rolled over him, the feeling of her fingers carding through his sweat matted hair a lovely feeling compared to the pain ripping through his chest. “We can’t have you leave us like this.”

“Hurts,” he managed to ground out, pushing as much as possible against her hand because that’s the kind of warmth he craved. She took the hint, applying more pressure. Tony most certainly did not make what sounded like a relieved purr, not that Natasha would ever rat him out if he did.

“I know. Bruce is on his way to look you over again and give you more medicine.” She fell silent though she continued to stroke her fingers through Tony’s hair. “You’ve scared us, Tony,” she murmured just before Tony gave back into the painlessness the darkness promised.

~*~*~*~

The second time Tony managed to stay awake longer than a few seconds, Clint sat in the chair in the corner of the room, knees drawn to his chest and an open book balanced atop them.

“Gonna strain your eyes.” Tony’s lips twitched into a half smirk when Clint jumped, his book toppling to the ground.

“This coming from the idiot who pushes himself until he almost dies at least once a week?” Clint’s eyes narrowed, anger and relief warring to be the dominant emotion.

“Nah. Just every month.” Talking still hurt. Everything still hurt, and sluggishness existed on top of that unlike the first time he woke. “How bad?”

Clint stood, stretching as he walked over to Tony’s bedside. “Bruce said that you did catch whatever was going around, but it just loved your immune system. Turned into a severe case of pneumonia.” He offered a small grin. “Although apparently this time you didn’t actually _mean_ to try and off yourself?”

Tony shook his head, the movement minute. “Didn’t know anything was wrong ‘til about five minutes before Bruce.”

“You’re getting better at this friend thing if it only took you that long to ask for help.” Clint reached out, letting the back of his hand rest against Tony’s forehead. “Fever’s still around. Bruce said you’re to have a nanny at all hours until it breaks.”

Sticking his tongue out was the most that Tony felt he could manage. Clint chuckled, rolling his eyes in what looked to be an affectionate manner that the genius attributed to his fever-addled brain.

“Any pain or is this dosage working the way it’s supposed to?”

“Sluggish.”

“Sounds about right. Bruce mentioned that might be a side effect. You know apparently that ‘burning the fever out” thing is an old wives’ tale? I mentioned it and Bruce near to took my head off.” Clint sat in the floor, his back resting against Tony’s bed, his head laid back and on top of Tony’s hand.

Neither man mentioned when Tony twisted his hand around so that he could thread his fingers through Clint’s hair as he drifted back to sleep while the archer rambled.

~*~*~*~

Grumbling about being jostled, Tony slipped back to consciousness encased in warmth. A low rumble met his discomfort followed by a whispered, “Sorry.”

Opening one eye, Tony made out Steve’s worried face mere inches from his own. So Steve was carrying him somewhere—probably back to Bruce’s lab if he’d had a relapse or for a check-up.

“Why?”

Steve blinked, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “You were still asleep so you couldn’t walk on your own. Bruce wants to make sure the inflammation’s going down like it’s supposed to be.”

Tony nodded, closing his eye because that was easier than keeping it open. “How long?”

“Today’s the fourth day you’ve been on bedrest,” Steve dutifully answered, shifting Tony just the slightest, causing the billionaire to smile.

“Medicine talking, but I’ve never been so comfortable before,” Tony muttered, attempting to burrow into the soldier’s chest.

Instead of poking fun, Steve softly laughed, and said, “I’m glad to be of service.”

“Need to make blankets or space heaters modeled after you. Would make millions,” Tony continued, his words slurring the more comfortable he felt.

“That’s also kind of creepy,” Steve said, laughter tinging his tone.

“Shhh, it’s not. Millions. Course,” Tony yawned, wincing as it pulled at his lungs, “that’s if I want to share.”

“And do you?” the amused soldier asked.

“Mm… No. ‘m good.”

“That’s what I thought.”

~*~*~*~

The final time Tony woke, he remained conscious, taking stock of his own body before opening his eyes. He didn’t feel one hundred percent yet, but the fever had dissipated, and he could breathe without feeling like knives were being driven into his lungs.

Squinting his eyes open, he noted that his room was dark save for the dim light coming from a lamp in the corner. Around the room he noticed the silhouettes of each of the Avengers in various stages of sleep. The only one still awake, Thor, caught his eye and smiled, relief pouring from his body despite the silence.

Tony gave a grin of his own return. He remembered saying and doing some embarrassing things, but he’d just pretend he didn’t remember. The consequences—losing whatever he had built with the other Avengers—wasn’t worth pushing any of the issues he wanted. For the moment, though, he settled back into his pillows and watched his friends sleep until he drifted back into slumber.


End file.
